


Of Gods and Dragons

by Space-Trash (PyroJellyfish)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, As much as you can spoil skyrim anyway, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dawnguard DLC, Dovahkiin Inquisitor, Dovahzul, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Dragon Language, Dragonborn DLC, Dragonborn | Dovahkiin in Thedas (Dragon Age), Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), Hearthfire DLC, Mild canon divergence, Profanity, Skyhold, Skyrim Spoilers, Vampirism, by which i mean all the main events still take place, just differently from how they occur in the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 70,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroJellyfish/pseuds/Space-Trash
Summary: Halldόra is Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, though she's now semi-retired from the hero business--or thinks she is.  When she's unexpectedly ripped through a hole between worlds to land smack in the middle of a crisis, she realizes she's expected to stop the end of the world once again.  The biggest problem is that this time, it's not her world at all.





	1. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There Are Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Age is taking over my life right now and I have SO MANY fic ideas but I just had to jump on the Dovahkiin in Thedas bandwagon. I'm also experimenting with first person POV for this one. Enjoy!

The first thing I was aware of was an incessant throbbing in my head. I blinked woozily as I struggled to regain awareness. The world slowly swam into focus. 

Everything hurt. The ache in my head was the most prominent pain, but it seemed that every muscle in my body was stiff and bruised. My knees and calves were tingling with the onset of numbness, a feeling echoed in my wrists. 

Finally I was able to make out my surroundings. I was half slumped on a hard stone floor, sparse rushes visible in my peripheral vision. A jail cell, then. Dim light filtered down directly above me, leaving the edges of my cell obscured in dimness. The discomfort in my wrists was quickly explained by the metal restraint locking my arms together.

_I despise waking up in chains._

My grimace deepened as I realized I didn’t recognize this dungeon—and I had at least a passing familiarity with all official jails in Skyrim. 

_Not official then. Some mercenary band? Or…agents of the Dominion?_

_Shit. Am I even in Skyrim still? Or have I been taken to Cyrodil?_

A fracas somewhere outside my cell drew my attention and I snapped alert. Two women burst into my cell, one immediately storming over to stand in front of where I knelt, bound, on the floor. One glimpse and I knew they weren’t Thalmor, but my relief was minimal. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now!” She snapped. 

“Because I assume you captured me for some purpose?” I snarked in reply. “If you wanted me dead, it would have been much easier to kill me before taking me into custody.”

The woman turned an outraged shade of red at my words, and before I even had time to think about trying to duck out of the way, her fist connected with the side of my face. I grunted and fell onto my side, struggling to stay balanced while chained the way I was. 

“Cassandra!” The second woman barked from somewhere behind me. I hadn’t even noticed her circling while her companion questioned me. “We need her.”

The only sign that the first woman—Cassandra, apparently—had heard was an angry flick of her eyes towards the other. 

“Divine Justinia is dead. Everyone who attended the Conclave is dead. Except. For. You.” She turned her burning gaze back my way as she spat the words out. Unfortunately for us both, they meant nothing to me. 

“I don’t know this Divine Justice, or what a Conclave is, but you obviously think I’m responsible. And I’m telling you, I’m not,” I retorted hotly. 

She raised her arm again to strike me. _Damn my mouth. It’s not necessary to aggravate the woman further._

“Cassandra!” The second woman warned.

“Fine, Leliana,” Cassandra answered testily. “Go to the forward camp. We will meet you there.” She finally lowered her arm. The other woman strode around me in a swirl of cloth, and I caught only a glimpse of a lilac cowl covering her head as she moved from sight. 

Cassandra leaned forward and unlocked the chain binding me to the floor, and helped me stand. She was surprisingly gentle, given her earlier blow. My face was still aching. 

“So, what exactly do you think I’m guilty of?” I ventured. 

“It would be easier to show you,” the other woman retorted, though with less heat than she had previously used when speaking to me. Without another word, she strode out of the cell, leaving the door guards to ensure I followed. 

*

I took the opportunity to study Cassandra’s back. Her hair was trimmed short, with a single slim braid looped around the crown of her head. It was an attractive style, but still practical. She carried herself with a military bearing, obviously comfortable with her armor. The heraldry on her shield was unfamiliar to me: a great eye with sunburst-like rays stretching out beneath it. 

_This is a woman who has obviously undergone military training,_ I mused as we walked. _She’s not Thalmor, nor does she belong to any of Skyrim’s Jarls. An independent Imperial faction, perhaps? Too disciplined to be a simple bandit…_

My thoughts ground to a halt as we stepped outside and my eyes were immediately drawn to the sky. 

“By the Nine,” I breathed in terrified awe. Stretching above us, alarmingly near, was a vortex of cloudlike magic, flickering green and sickly. 

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said, watching me closely. I was dimly aware of her mouth opening to say more, but suddenly white-hot pain lanced through my left hand, burning up my arm and directly into my brain. I cried out and collapsed to one knee, spots swimming in my vision. 

Almost as quickly as it had come, the burning faded away, leaving only the stinging memory of pain in its wake. I gazed down at the hand I was clutching desperately. A fresh burn crossed my palm, red and angry, surrounded by flickering green light, like that of the vortex in the sky. 

I looked back up at Cassandra, who was still watching me keenly. “What in Oblivion was that?”

“That mark on your hand seems to be connected to the Breach,” she replied evenly. “Every time the Breach grows, the mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but we are running out of time.”

“To stopping this _how_?” I burst out. My head was throbbing worse with every word Cassandra spoke. 

“By closing the Breach.”

*

 _This is really not my day_ , I thought as we ran along the mountain path. 

After her terse explanation, Cassandra had unlocked the hinged metal binding my wrists together. Tossing the restraints aside, she told me to follow, and quickly escorted me through what was evidently a small village. Soldiers lining the sides stopped and whispered to one another, eyeing me with open hostility as we passed. It was at that point I realized I was unarmored, and unarmed—well, besides the Thu’um and my limited arsenal of spells. 

To make things worse, the bridge collapsed, sending Cassandra and me tumbling with the stones and soldier’s corpses to the frozen river below. Then we were attacked by alien creatures. Then Cassandra nearly ran me through when she realized I had found a fallen soldier’s sword with which to defend myself. Then there were more of the creatures—demons, Cassandra had called them. Then some dipshit in bizarre red and white robes had demanded my arrest and execution. 

The only bright spot in the whole business had been the addition of two unusual allies to our party. One had introduced himself as Varric, and I had immediately taken a shine to his sarcastic wit. The other, an elf of unclear heritage, identified himself as Solas, and told us that I could close the rifts using the mark in my hand. He seemed strangely smug and well informed about the whole business, but as Serana always tells me, I’m too quick to trust anyone who doesn’t try to kill me on sight. At least they probably wouldn’t be so quick to execute me if I could be of use.

Now the four of us were racing through some abandoned mining tunnels, climbing as quickly as we could up and down ladders and steep paths on our way to the Breach. I finally had the leisure to begin to observe our surroundings. 

Snow and conifers made up the majority of the landscape, but it was no part of Skyrim that I’d ever seen before—surprising, given how much I’ve traipsed about that country of late. It certainly wasn’t Solstheim either. I saw no signs of the unique Morrowind flora, and the ever-oppressive peak of Red Mountain was conspicuous in its absence. 

I paused at the top of one of the many ladders, waiting while the others climbed up after me. 

“So, where are we, exactly?” I cautiously asked Cassandra. 

“Haven, of course,” she responded, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “The Conclave took place at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

The name was unfamiliar to me, nor did I recognize the temple she spoke of. “Is…Haven in Cyrodiil?” I queried slowly. 

“Cyrodiil?” Cassandra replied blankly, and I realized Varric was looking at me oddly as well. Solas, the last of our little group, cleared the top of the ladder and looked at us expectantly. 

There was an awkward silence as the three of them stared at me, and I stared back. 

“I am unfamiliar with this…Cyrodiil,” Cassandra said finally, and I felt like she’d struck me in the face again. 

_Am I being pranked? Everyone in Tamriel knows the name of the heart of the Empire._

“Maybe we should get going and discuss this at a more opportune time,” Solas interjected, and I nodded weakly, not knowing what else to say. Cassandra took the lead this time, eyeing me warily as she passed. 

Finally, we reached our destination. 

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas announced as we approached a smoking ruin. 

“What’s left of it,” Varric muttered ironically behind me, and I had to agree. Charred bodies littered the ground, eerie in the sickly green light illuminating them from above. Even I was somewhat sickened by the extent of the carnage. 

“This is where our soldiers found you,” Cassandra said, her tone grown solemn in the face of so much death. “You’d walked out of a rift. They say there was a woman behind you, but no one knows who she was.”

The grizzly scene was even worse inside the temple, if that were possible. Charred stones and rubble littered the floor, making even walking hazardous, and more scorched bodies were piled around, posed in mid-flight, most with gaping mouths, eternally and silently screaming out their final moments of terror. We approached a balcony, and gazed in awe at the swirling vortex above, long trails of green magic connecting it to another rift in the ruins below us. 

“The Breach is a long way up,” Varric mumbled, looking around uncomfortably. 

“I don’t even know how to begin getting up there,” I replied. 

“No,” Solas answered. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Close it, and we may seal the Breach.”

“Then let us look for a way down,” Cassandra said decisively. 

I eyed the drop from our vantage to the floor below. It wasn’t terribly far. Perhaps the distance from my Falkreath home, Lakeview Manor, to the lakeside standing stones, and I had made that jump any number of times. Shrugging lightly, I vaulted myself over the railing. 

Cassandra let out a startled cry as I jumped, and instants later I had landed lightly and turned to look at her. My three companions were all leaning over and looking at me. Cassandra looked horrified, Varric had a shocked expression that was quickly being overcome by a wide grin, and Solas looked startled yet mildly impressed. 

“Well that was one way down,” Varric called out, chortling. 

“Yes, well…we will look for…a different way,” Cassandra stuttered. 

_Maybe that wasn’t my best decision._

I followed their voices as they curved around the side of the large chamber I was standing in. The rift hovered above, green and glowing. I took advantage of my solitude to inspect it. The core seemed to be a jagged set of crystals that mutated and morphed even as I watched. They emitted a dissonant hum as they changed, overlain by a crystalline echo. Beams of that green light shifted around the crystal core, occasionally spiking out to stab at the surrounding walls and ash-covered floor. I circled the rift slowly, staying well back, idly tracking my companions’ movements around the chamber’s edge. 

Abruptly, a deep, larger-than-life voice sounded out. It held the same resonating power as Alduin’s, and I gripped the hilt of my scavenged broadsword more tightly, looking around for the source of the voice. 

“Bring the sacrifice,” it said, and I realized with a start that it was coming from the rift itself. 

Cassandra’s startled exclamation could be heard somewhere above and forward of me, and I looked in the direction it came from, noticing a more easily sloping area of the cavern wall. That would likely be the outlet of the path my companions were taking. I continued my stroll toward it, senses on alert, still focused on the rift. A few moments later, I heard Varric exclaim something about the color red, sounding immensely distressed. Less than two minutes after that, I heard the scuff of their approaching boots. 

Once again the phantom voice sounded, this time accompanied by a wavering vision. A misshapen shadowy figure with glowing red eyes spoke of sacrifice, and an old woman wearing those red and white robes pleaded for help, terror on her face. Suddenly, I strode into the image, eyes flashing, armor glinting, Sanguine Rose strapped to my back. 

“What’s going on here?” I roared, looking from the obviously imprisoned and petrified woman to the shadowy figure that menaced her.

“We have an intruder,” the sinister being said in that booming voice. “Kill her.” And the vision flickered into nothingness. 

“You were there!” Cassandra exclaimed, wheeling about to face me. “Is the Divine…is she…Is this vision true?” 

“I don’t remember any of this,” I told her honestly. “I’m sorry.” 

She looked pleadingly to Solas for an answer. His reply, something about a ‘fade’ and memories, was lost on me as Varric trundled into my field of vision, smirking. I raised one eyebrow at him in question.

“So, what’s with the giant rose?” He asked, a chortle in his voice. My other eyebrow shot up to join its sister. Of all the important questions I could think of at this moment, I hadn’t considered that my staff would be one. 

Cassandra saved me from needing to answer. “Hurry,” she snapped. “Solas thinks you can re-open the rift in order to close it properly, but there will be demons. Be ready.”

I merely glanced at the short man before jogging closer to the rift. As Solas had showed me earlier, I stretched forth my palm, _pushing_ out with the outlandish magic entrenched therein, and with a startling pop the rift’s magic connected. Thick ropes of green light undulated between my hand and the rapidly morphing crystals, jagged wires of light fighting to break free from the connection. The rift pulled on me, and in retaliation I pulled right back. With an audible ‘pop’, the connection broke, and the rift seemed to stabilize a moment before a wave of green magic flowed out of it, bringing with it an angrily roaring beast. 

“Demon!” Cassandra cried, flinging herself at the monster as the archers around us let arrows fly. I gaped at the creature for just a moment. It was big enough to give even the giants trouble, and it seemed almost as covered with scaly armor as a dragon. But I’ve killed my fair share of both, so I raised my sword and charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. An Uncomfortable Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Halldόra Receives Some Unsettling News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corrected a few errors in the previous chapter...realized I'd been spelling Cyrodiil wrong. Silly double I's...  
> Enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!

Once again I awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. I was aware of a dull ache in my left arm, and a pressing fuzziness in my head. Blearily, I sat up, trying to shake off the grogginess. I was in a pleasant room, in a bed, dressed in clean, though outlandish, clothes. 

_At least I’m not a prisoner this time._

I perched on the side of the bed and buried my face in my hands. The pain was fading, and my head cleared. In fact, after a few short moments I felt pretty damn good. Like I could run from Solitude to Whiterun and fight a dragon or three along the way. 

_Ah yes. We defeated that demon, and I closed the rift. I must have been knocked out in the backlash. Wonder how long I’ve been asleep?_

As I sifted through my memories, the door clicked open. A young woman walked in, humming to herself, and stopped cold when saw me. 

“I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” She practically squealed as the basket she’d been holding tumbled from her hands. 

I lifted my head quickly to reassure her, but before I could speak, her eyes grew round and horrified, and her breath caught. 

_Oh shit. That’s why I feel so healthy now._

Before she could scream, I quickly cast a Seduction on her. Her eyes glazed over, and she simply _stopped_. Her mouth was still open in an ‘O’ of horror, but there was no intelligence evident on her face. 

“Shh,” I crooned softly, approaching her quickly. “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”

_Well, I’ve been out for at least three days,_ I thought as I quickly bent to press my mouth to the tender flesh of her neck, still holding her under my thrall. Warm blood flowed over my lips, and I drank my fill eagerly. When I was finished, I cast a quick healing spell on her to wipe away the telltale bite marks. Then I stepped back beside the bed and released her from the Seduction.

As she slowly came back to herself, I observed her closely. She was an elf, I could see now. A very short, nondescript elf. 

_Come to think of it, that Solas fellow was on the short side for an elf too. Maybe there’s something that stunts growth around here? Varric was clearly well into adulthood but his shoulders barely came up to my ribs._

“Easy, it’s alright,” I soothed, trying to calm the girl as she blinked in confusion. She looked at me askance, and I felt a pang of fear, even though I knew from long experience that she would remember nothing that had happened while she was under my spell. 

The poor little thing quivered and then suddenly prostrated herself on the rug she’d been standing on. My jaw dropped open, and I’m sure I looked quite the fool. 

“I ask your forgiveness and your blessing,” she said in a rush, speaking almost directly to the floor. “The Lady Seeker will want to know you’re awake. She said, at once.” With those words, the elf bounced back to her feet and began to edge back toward the door. 

“Alright,” I replied, trying again to soothe her. “Where can I find her?”

“She’s in the Chantry,” was the timid reply. “At once, she said!” And the girl was out the door in a flash. I sighed, rubbing my neck. 

_I wonder what a Chantry is. The local temple? I’ll probably have to ask for directions._

*

The Chantry was easy to find, largely because people were lined up on either side of the path outside the home I was settled in. Their ranks snaked along with only a few gaps, and it was obvious where I was supposed to walk. They all had their heads bowed and an arm curled over their chest in some sort of salute, and whispers followed me as I hurried past them. 

“There she is.”

“That’s her! She sealed the Breach!”

“They say Andraste herself brought her to us.”

It was a far cry from the suspicious, aggressive stares I’d gotten the first time I woke among these people. 

_Honestly, I’d take the hostility over these strange looks._

The Chantry, as I’d thought, was a house of worship. It was by far the largest, most impressive building in the village. 

The hushed whispers and awed stares lessened as I entered the temple, and raised voices could be heard from behind a door at the far end of the massive chamber. I hurried toward them, trying to pick words out of the muffled shouts. I recognized Cassandra’s fluid tones, but couldn’t place the person arguing with her.

It turned out to be the prick from before, who had wanted me dead—Chancellor Roderick. He immediately ordered my seizure and death when I entered the room, but to my surprise, Cassandra overruled him. There was a heated debate, with accusations flung around willy-nilly, and finally the Seeker slammed an enormous tome down on the table. It rivaled Hermaeus Mora’s Black Books in size, and had the strange emblem with the eye and sun rays, now centered on a sword, emblazoned on the cover. 

“As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,” she asserted. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible for this madness, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.” 

The offended cleric stormed out, and Cassandra and Leliana both turned to me.

“So, what exactly is this Inquisition?” I asked. 

“The Inquisition preceded the Chantry,” Leliana explained. “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.” 

“And we need you to be a part of it,” Cassandra interposed. 

“Why me?”

“Because the people see you as the Herald of Andraste. They say you were sent to us in our hour of need.”

“The Herald of…Andraste?” I repeated the strange words in confusion. “What’s Andraste?”

The two stared at me in horrified silence. 

“Andraste is the bride of the Maker,” Leliana said slowly. “Surely you’ve heard of her before?”

“Can’t say that I have. Perhaps you could give me a brief summary of your faith? Obviously this Inquisition is a spiritual organization.”

So they explained. I understood less than half of it. The Maker, who seemed to be their only divinity, had chosen this Andraste as his prophet and bride from among the mortals. She had led some sort of holy war, been sacrificed, and now lived on in their faith. Somehow mages were involved, and an organization called the Templars that seemed to be a sort of anti-mage force. I made a mental note to not tell these people that I was the Arch-Mage at the College of Winterhold. 

_I’ve never heard of any of this before now._ A niggling suspicion that I was no longer in Tamriel rose in the back of my mind, but I squashed in ruthlessly. If I’d been taken somewhere across the sea, I would simply find my way back once things were taken care of.

“I will help you close the Breach,” I informed the women. They seemed taken aback, but grateful. My understanding of the Inquisition’s purpose beyond closing the Breach was far from complete, but they seemed perfectly content to drop the lesson when I agreed to help.

_I haven’t any interest in their religious debates, but I do agree that the hole in the sky must be dealt with. I’m certainly not lacking in practice with saving the world. Perhaps that’s why I’m here? I wouldn’t put it past one of the Daedra to pluck me from Eastmarch and drop me where I was needed._

As the two continued to discuss their newly formed Inquisition, my mind drifted. I idly observed both women, noting distinguishing features and their expressions as they talked. Leliana was quite pretty in her way, but her expressions were almost too distinct. I had the strong impression that she was a master of hiding her thoughts and emotions and that every word and twitch of a muscle was part of a carefully contrived ploy. 

Cassandra was not nearly so secretive. Her expressions played across her handsome face openly, and her words almost seemed to flow from her mouth as soon as she had thought them. I smiled vaguely. I was well familiar with speaking before I truly thought things through. Her voice was like melted glass, smooth and warm, her accent rounding out any harsh syllables. It reminded me of Mjoll. 

The thought of my dear friend brought my mind back to my current predicament. Cassandra and Leliana were still talking animatedly, so I hesitantly cleared my throat to get their attention.

“I will help you with this Inquisition,” I said once they had both turned to face me, “but I do need to send a few letters…” I trailed off.

“Of course,” Leliana replied smoothly. “We will be sending many of our ravens out with messages as we prepare the Inquisition, but I will ensure that enough are made available to you for your needs. How many letters will you be sending?”

_A lot_ , I thought wryly, twisting my lips. One for each of my housecarls, one to Frea and the girls, one to Serana, of course one to the High King, then Brynjolf, Vilkas, Cicero…

_Though perhaps I can delegate some of the responsibility. If I ask Serana, she’ll certainly be willing to write to the various guilds I’m part of and let them know of my prolonged absence. And Lydia can let the other housecarls know._

“Perhaps…four?” I ventured, looking back at Leliana. She looked a bit surprised by the request, so I hastened to explain. “I need to send word to my family on Solstheim, and I have duties that will have to be taken care of in Solitude, Whiterun, and Riften…” I trailed off as Leliana’s look of alarm grew. It was then that I recalled my discussion with Cassandra on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, when she made it clear that she had never heard of Cyrodiil before. 

_Well. Shit._

“I…have not heard of those places,” Leliana said finally, poised mask slipping just a fraction. “What is your country of origin?”

“Skyrim,” I said shakily. 

“Where is this Skyrim?” Cassandra asked, and her expression of sharp suspicion was back. 

“North,” I said, closing my eyes against the fear that clamored through me. I had gone to Sovngarde, traveled the Soul Cairn, encountered Daedric Princes and dragons and countless monsters, but always I had the certainty of my homeland. “It’s in Tamriel, north of Cyrodiil.”

Silence.

_Shit shit shit._

“I recognize nothing of those names,” Leliana said uncertainly. I opened my eyes to see her and Cassandra sharing a long glance. 

“Do you remember what happened before you fell through the rift?” Cassandra’s tone was brisk. 

“Not really. I remember riding along the road from Windhelm to Riften, and then it gets fuzzy until waking up in the cell just before I met the two of you.” I had already puzzled myself over it but decided that an ambush had impaired my memory. 

“You don’t know our faith, or even the Fade, and you come from places we have no knowledge of,” Leliana mused softly, gazing toward the ceiling. “I think perhaps Solas would be of better help with this.”

*

Cassandra watched the stranger carefully as Leliana explained the situation to Solas. The woman was exceptionally tall, with sharp angles to her face and piercing eyes that gleamed with an ominous red sheen. She had three stripes of red running diagonally across her face. Cassandra had first thought the design some sort of war paint, but when they’d cleaned her up after closing the rift she’d found it was tattooed on. A deep scar, puckered white, ran above the curve of her jaw. Her light reddish brown hair spilled across the back of her neck, held back from her face by two thick braids that ended above her shoulders.

She looked much better than when Cassandra had seen her the previous day. Then, she’d been disturbingly pale and gaunt, eyes rimmed in deep shadows. Her lips had looked alarmingly flushed against the white of her skin, as if all the blood in her face had pooled within them. Now, she was still pale and lean, but not nearly so much. She listened patiently as Solas quizzed her about her home, asking questions about the religious beliefs, animal and plant life, geography, magic. Her answers described no place Cassandra had ever heard of before.

Finally, Solas nodded decisively. 

“I believe you have come from another realm,” he announced. “Perhaps the Breach between our waking world and the Fade also punched a hole in your world, drawing you through it to our side.”

Cassandra gaped at him and Leliana’s perfect brows rose. The prisoner (who was a prisoner no longer, Cassandra reminded herself sharply) looked taken aback, then thoughtful.

Solas was watching her think, one eyebrow quirked. 

“I see,” she said finally, sounding like she didn’t really see at all but didn’t know what else to say. Cassandra could hardly blame her.

“I’m sure it’s a shocking idea. Perhaps you should take a few days to get used to the concept, and then we can have another discussion? With more information, I may be able to assist you better,” he said. 

“An excellent idea, Solas,” Leliana told him. Cassandra grunted her agreement. Come from another world? Even with such magic as had been expended at the Conclave, how could such a thing be possible? But, she could think of no other explanation. 

“It is no wonder you seemed so lost when we told you about the Chantry and the Conclave,” the Seeker said, tone compassionate. “I’m sure you have many more questions. Leliana and I have much to do to ready the Inquisition, but perhaps you should seek out Varric? He is a storyteller, and he can surely explain things to you more easily than I.”

The Herald seemed surprised at her words, but nodded gratefully as she stood.

“A good idea. Cassandra and I will leave you to it.” Leliana spoke briskly, eager to get the work under way. The Right and Left hands of the Divine said their farewells and sped off, calling to various assistants and issuing orders as they went.


	3. Lies and Half-Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Halldόra is Perhaps Not Entirely Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but this will be the end of the introductory sequence. Next up we'll have some character interaction (which was so fun to write)! I might post chap 4 later this weekend just because this one is so much shorter than usual.

I wandered the little village for a time, trying to wrap my head around the concept of being in another realm. As Dragonborn, I was used to the whispers and looks that followed me, but the idea of being some sort of holy icon—for a religion I knew nothing about—was disquieting. 

“Hey, Rose,” a familiar voice called, drawing me from my thoughts. I looked up to find Varric waving at me with a cheerful smile, Solas standing next to him. 

“I did not mention it during our earlier conversation, but I am pleased to see you have once again recovered,” the mage said as I approached. 

Varric laughed. “Chuckles has been taking his nursemaid duties very seriously,” he said with a wink at me. 

“Chuckles?” I asked, frowning in puzzlement. 

“Varric likes to give people nicknames,” Solas explained. “Evidently, he thinks Chuckles is suitable for me.”

“I see,” I said, looking at the shorter man. “Rose?”

He grinned cheekily. “It’s a work in progress, but it’ll do for now. So, Chuckles tells me you’re not from around here.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I muttered, sighing. “Actually, Cassandra suggested I come talk to you. I understand that the Inquisition is trying to close the Breach, but I don’t know how it fits in with the Chantry or this Herald of Andraste business.”

“Seeker actually recommended you talk with me?” Varric’s grin grew even wider. “Will wonders never cease. Sure, I can give you a history lesson. Why don’t we go to the tavern?”

“If you don’t object, I will join you,” Solas offered. “I may be able to answer questions regarding magic and the Fade that Varric cannot. And I must confess to curiosity about your homeland.”

*

My discussion with Varric and Solas lasted most of the rest of the day. It was late afternoon by the time Cassandra found me sitting idly in the little house that had been provided for my use, lying on my back with my left arm in the air above me, curiously inspecting the hand that bore the mark. 

“Does it trouble you?” She asked when she saw what I was doing. 

“The pain has nearly stopped,” I mumbled, not really paying attention, “but I wish I knew where it came from. And how to get rid of it.”

She chuckled at that. “Well, for now we have need of it. Come. I want to introduce you to the main players behind the Inquisition.”

She led me back into the Chantry, to the War Room where we had met earlier. New banners, bearing the Inquisition’s symbol, had been hung above the door. Leliana was already there, along with a bronze skinned woman in ruffled silks and a handsome man in armor. He towered over the two women who stood beside him, gazing at me as I entered. 

_Tall, muscular, and blond. Just my type._

Cassandra introduced him as Cullen, Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, and the woman as Josephine, the Inquisition’s Ambassador. She noted in passing that Leliana was Spymaster. 

_Fitting, that._

“A pleasure to meet you,” I said, nodding to them each in turn. If they’d thought to overwhelm me with their titles, they were sorely disappointed.

“And you, Herald,” Josephine said somewhat breathlessly. “We have been told of Solas’ suggestion that you are from a different realm. I am sure it is immensely confusing for you to be here with us and we will try to make you as comfortable as we can. Please, let me know if there is anything you need.” 

I smiled my thanks. “Actually, I would like any belongings I arrived with,” I told the room at large. “I usually travel with a fairly large pack, and I assume it was with me when I was…brought here.”

“Actually, that is part of why we are here,” Cassandra said from my left. “While we don’t believe you are responsible for the Breach, you are unknown to us, and we have questions about some of your possessions.”

I grimaced as I realized they had searched through the pack when I was seized. Not that I was surprised by it, but such an invasion of privacy is never comfortable. 

“Before we begin, if I might have your full name and any titles you hold?” Josephine asked primly, as Leliana brought out my pack and the armor I had been wearing before being imprisoned. 

“Certainly,” I agreed, watching with one eye while the Spymaster and Commander laid my belongings out on the table. “My name is Halldόra, and—” I hesitated. 

“Your surname?” Josephine prompted. 

“Ah…people where I’m from don’t generally get surnames unless they are wealthy or important enough to warrant founding a house,” I stuttered. 

_Now that I think of it, it is a bit odd that I haven’t chosen a surname yet. I’ve certainly done enough of import to do so. I wonder what I would take? Dragon-Heart? Naw, too obvious. Hmm…_

“So, do you not have any titles?” Josephine asked politely, making notes on her parchment as I mused. 

Once again, her innocent question dumbfounded me. ”Er…none that would matter, given that I’m apparently not from around here,” I hedged, echoing Varric’s earlier words to me. 

_It’s not exactly a lie. Thane would mean nothing to these people, and for the others…we’d be here for an hour just trying to explain them all._

Josie gave me a skeptical look, but didn’t press the matter. 

“You have one title that is significant in Thedas,” Cullen interjected jokingly. “The Herald of Andraste. How does it feel?”

I grimaced. “I really don’t understand why I’m supposed to be this Herald, to be honest.”

“Witnesses who saw you fall from the rift say there was a woman behind you,” Josephine replied helpfully. “Many believe it was Andraste herself.”

“I see,” I murmured, though in actuality I didn’t. But, I was the champion of every Daedric Prince I’d come across, so I supposed I could handle this additional burden, uncomfortable as it was.

Leliana cleared her throat, drawing my attention.

“We can see that your weapons and armor are enchanted, but we have not been able to identify the nature of the enchantments, nor how they were emplaced. But, if what Solas says is true, and you are from another world, then it is not so surprising. I think we can skip them for now. I am, however, curious about this,” she said, pointing to the Sanguine Rose.

“That’s a staff,” I replied without thinking. “It’s also enchanted.”

The tension that followed my words was palpable, and I cursed inwardly. 

_You just had an hours long discussion about the war between mages and Templars that is currently ravaging this place. When will you learn to watch your big mouth?_

“You are a mage, then?” Cassandra asked me.

“After a fashion,” I said resignedly. “Solas and I spent at least an hour debating that this afternoon. In Skyrim, anyone can use magic. There, spell-casting is a teachable skill, not inherent. And staffs here are totally different from the staffs I’m used to. Solas indicated that here they are used as a focus of a mage’s intent, yes?” I looked to see their affirmative nods before continuing. “Well a staff is much the same as an enchanted weapon in my world. It can only cast one spell, based on the enchantment that is put upon it. When the enchantment wears off, the staff is no more than a fancy walking stick until it is recharged.”

“But you do know spells?” Cullen pressed, tone dripping with wariness. 

“A few. I’m not very advanced at all, to be terribly honest with you.” _A fact that always annoyed Mirabelle to no end._

They were still suspicious, but seemed content with my answers for now. The line of questioning moved on to the more mundane items in my pack—my amulets of Talos and Mara, ore that they didn’t recognize, a bundle of Vale Deer hides that I’d been intending to gift to Adrianne. To my relief, they skipped over the travel-beaten copy of The Book of the Dragonborn, with its carefully pressed wreath of flowers and hawk’s feather tucked in the front cover.

“Last, we have these,” Leliana said, sliding the three potions of blood across the table toward me. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

_Oh. Varric said these people freak out about magic and blood. This could be a problem._

“Ah, those are potions,” I said helpfully. _Yeah, what a great answer. I’d wager they’d already reached that conclusion._

“What kind of potions?” Cullen prompted, lips lifting in a smirk at my answer. 

“Restorative,” I mumbled vaguely, still trying to figure out how to bullshit my way out of this line of questioning. 

“So, health potions?” Cassandra interjected, looking at me oddly. 

“We are concerned, you see, because by all appearances these are potions made from blood,” Leliana declared bluntly. 

Brynjolf’s voice echoed in my head. _When in doubt, keep the lie as close to the truth as possible._

“Well…” I said slowly, trying to slow my heart. The Spymaster was a master of deceit and could probably detect my pounding pulse from across town. “They are.”

Cullen’s hand clenched around his sword, Cassandra jolted as if I’d dumped a bucket of ice on her head, and even Josephine let out an alarmed gasp. 

“There’s an animal, where I come from,” I hurried to elaborate. “Its blood has healing properties.” 

“What sort of animal?” Leliana asked skeptically. Cullen’s white-knuckled grip on his sword hilt had loosened somewhat at my words, but he was still eyeing me warily. 

“Ah—it’s—well, kind of—” I wasn’t improving my case. I was racking my brains to come up with an animal they might not have in this world, and all I could think of was Netch. Netch were so specific to Morrowind I thought they might be safe, but how in Oblivion did one _describe_ a Netch? “They’re a sort of herd animal, I suppose,” I continued lamely, “they feed primarily on vegetation, especially in swampy or shoreline areas. Some specialists raise them as livestock and produce leather from the hides.” Blast it all, they were still staring at me with disbelief. I blew out a breath. 

“I don’t really know how to describe them,” I laughed, relieved when their expressions cleared. “I suppose I could try to draw one for you.”

“That’s probably not necessary,” Leliana said with a smile. “You’ve been very patient with all of our questions. Thank you. I’m sure you are tired and hungry by now.”

_Thank Talos. Now I just have to remember not to accidentally let slip to anyone else that Netch don’t actually have magical healing blood._

I smiled my acknowledgement at the Spymaster, and my stomach decided then to rumble its thanks that the meeting was finally over as well. We all laughed, and I went back to my little cabin that night with my belongings tucked firmly under my arms. The blood potions were swiftly hidden behind the bookcase, in case anyone decided they warranted further investigation after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I don't know how surnames work in Skyrim, so I just ran with it. It might be more likely that they're the vestiges of noble clans or something, but if anyone can create a new clan, it would be the Last Dragonborn, right?  
> On another note: while writing this story, I've found that I tend to fall back into passive voice a lot, and I'm trying to get better at active voice...so if you have any tips or suggestions, please lemme know! Thanks for reading~


	4. Questions of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Everyone Vents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Extra chapter this week because a) the last one was short and b) the advantage of living in a super conservative state is that you get a three day weekend for Easter, and clearly the best way to celebrate such a thing is to write fanfic!

The next morning I awoke feeling restless. I hadn’t kept to a regular sleeping schedule since my youth, and the confinement from my status as something between an ally and a prisoner was getting to me. 

_Perhaps I can help with getting the Inquisition started. At the very least, I can probably hunt or gather herbs._

Forgoing the set of clothes I had been provided, I dressed in the comfortable leather I’d arrived in. The Ancient Shrouded Armor was well worn and fading, but it felt like a second skin and I shrugged into it gratefully. Strapping Mehrune’s Razor to the small of my back, I stepped out the door. 

I wandered to the training yard first. Commander Cullen was overseeing drills, calling out critiques and encouragement to the recruits. 

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand for a reason. Block with it!” He shouted out as I approached. I observed his men for a moment. I had no formal military training of my own, but I could see the order in the seemingly chaotic mash of soldiers swinging practice blades at one another. 

“Herald,” Cullen acknowledged when I was beside him. “We’ve received a number of new recruits since stabilizing the Breach. None made quite the entrance you did, however.”

I quirked a smile at him. “I’m afraid I don’t do anything by halves, Commander. Even joining an army.”

_Especially joining an army._

“So I’d say,” he replied, chortling. “I was recruited from Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising—saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution, so I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

_Yeah, that’s typically how these things work_ , I thought wryly, but tried not to let my cynicism show on my face. 

“So you believe this Inquisition can end the war?” I asked instead.

“I do. The Chantry lost control of both the mages and Templars. Now they argue over who should become the New Divine, instead of dealing with the Breach. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry is paralyzed with no leadership. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can do—but forgive me. I’m sure you didn’t come here for a lecture.”

“Well, no,” I laughed. “But as I’ve no other pressing matters, you are certainly welcome to deliver one, if you’re of a mind.”

That drew a chuckle from him. “Another time perhaps.” He smiled as his gaze raked over me. 

_Yes, this is a very handsome man. I’m not sure what to think of that fluff he wears about his shoulders, though._ It was a vivid auburn, and thicker than any pelt I’d ever seen before. I wondered what kind of animal it came from.

He seemed to realize that we were staring at each other in silence, for he abruptly cleared his throat, blushing slightly. 

_A bashful Commander? How endearing._

“There’s still a lot of work ahead,” he said softly, averting his gaze from mine. I couldn’t help the mischievous smirk that twisted my lips, and was debating ways to really throw him off guard when we were interrupted by a scout. 

“Commander! Report on the supply lines, ser!” 

Cullen sighed. “As I was saying,” he apologized to me as he strode off with the scout. My pranks would have to wait. 

I turned my gaze to the Breach. It was still twirling threateningly in the sky, but no longer spit fire bombs everywhere. The familiar melody of ringing swords surrounded me as I studied it. Had it really brought me to this world, so different from my own dear Skyrim? And if it had, would closing it send me back, or trap me in Thedas?

A series of grunts and loud _thwacks_ drew my attention around the tent to my left. I turned to see Cassandra slaughtering a straw-stuffed training dummy, swinging her sword in precise, controlled arcs. The dummy was losing straw at what would have been a lethal rate, if it had been alive. 

“You’re kind of a force of nature, aren’t you?” I joked as I watched. She glowered at me. 

“When I must be,” was the terse response. Another swing, and the dummy’s head was sheared nearly in two. 

“I’m impressed,” I said, trying to draw more out of her. 

She snorted. “You flatter me.”

“I’m certainly trying,” I chuckled. The Seeker sighed. 

“Did I do the right thing?” She asked, turning to look at the Breach. Her shoulders slumped, the point of her sword dropping to the earth. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day, they may brand me a traitor, madwoman, fool. And they may be right.” She turned back to the dummy and began beating it with her sword again, but now her movements were sluggish, half-hearted. Where Cullen was firmly certain of the Inquisition’s purpose and leadership, Cassandra was clearly torn. 

“You seem a devout woman, from what I’ve seen,” I told her. “What does your faith tell you?”

“I believe you are innocent,” she grunted. “I believe there is more going on here than we can see. I believe you were sent to help us. I hope you were. But my belief does not mean this is the Maker’s will.”

“So what’s the next step?” I asked. 

She barked out a laugh. “Next, we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you. Then, we close the Breach. And after that, we find who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I’ve done, I will pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

I sighed. I well knew that hope. I thought of the sureness of purpose that accompanied me the first time I strode into Windhelm, proud of my heritage and country, determined to call myself a Stormcloak. The niggling uncertainty that stalked me when I saw the suspicion and anger toward the Dark Elves, the enforced isolation of the Argonians. The overwhelming shock and fear when I read the Thalmor dossier on Ulfric, the man I’d chosen to support as High King. Ulfric’s rule could have disastrous consequences for Skyrim and the Empire, and I had no small part in helping him ascend the throne. I too, could only pray the price was not too high. 

“You cannot change the decisions you made in the past,” I said, as much to myself as to Cassandra. “You can only choose how to move forward.”

“I misjudged you in the beginning, didn’t I? I thought your guilt clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

“It’s not as though you had no reason to suspect me,” I told her practically. She just grunted and began to turn away, but hesitated. 

“I’m curious. Do _you_ believe you were brought here by divine providence?” She asked. 

“I really couldn’t say,” I said honestly.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.”

It was only after she strode away that I realized I hadn’t asked her if there was anything I could do to help the Inquisition.

*

Varric was standing by a large fire between two tents as I passed, still musing on the Seeker’s words. I wondered how Skyrim was faring. I’d only been in Thedas a few days, but did time even move the same here as it did in Skyrim? What if Ulfric made some stupid mistake that plunged us into war with the Thalmor while I wasn’t there to try to keep him in line? What if he reneged on our personal agreement to treat the non-Nord citizens of Skyrim better? The civil war was technically over, but the country was still divided after the Stormcloak uprising. And I was stuck here, who knew how far away from home, with no idea how to get back.

“Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot,” the short man greeted me, “are you holding up alright? I mean, you went from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to being a holy icon in the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“Believe me, it’s not the strangest thing to have happened to me in a single day,” I responded, still lost in my own thoughts. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like an interesting story.”

I chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll tell it to you someday.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Rose,” he grinned. “But I think the Spymaster is looking for you. Something about a mission to Redcliff.”

“Alright, thanks,” I nodded my farewell.

The Sister was in her command tent outside the Chantry. I approached before realizing she was bent over in prayer, and backed off a pace respectfully. 

“Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.” Her words drifted to me. “Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that your will is done? Is death your only blessing? You speak for Andraste, yes? What does the Maker’s pawn have to say about all this? What’s His game?”

It took a moment for me to realize that this last was directed at me. _Evidently everyone is having a crisis of faith today._

“Game?” I asked in confusion.

“Do you see the sky, the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust? No one could call this right. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game?” Her voice was vehement. 

“I’m afraid I speak only for myself,” I told her seriously, “and I have no answers for you.”

“I used to think I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was doing the Maker’s will, working for the Divine, and before, with the Hero of Fereldan. But Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die. If He doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?”

My faith was, in actuality, fairly loose. I firmly believed in the right to worship Talos, despite his birth as a mortal. In fact, I reflected, my dedication to him might be _because_ of his origins as Tiber Septim. The Aedra were not so far removed from the Daedric Lords, in my opinion, with the ability to bend mortals to their whims and desires. But, I couldn’t deny the prophecy that had announced me as Dragonborn. I considered my words carefully before I spoke. 

“Perhaps,” I said slowly, “this is part of your path. Would the Maker necessarily control everything along His chosen ones’ journeys, or merely set them up to reach the desired goal in their own way?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, looking at me with an inquisitive eye. “That is…a possibility that I had not considered. But enough. This is my burden, and I regret letting you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness, and will not happen again.”

I nodded respectfully. “Varric said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, an opportunity near Redcliff has come to my attention. Please, meet me in the War Room. I will gather the others.”

*

Josephine entered shortly after me. 

“Herald,” she greeted me. 

I gave a half bow. “Ambassador.”

She giggled. “So formal. Please, call me Josie.”

“Is it not formal of you to call me Herald, rather than my name?” I smiled to take any bite out of my words. The girls often complained that it was hard to tell when I was teasing or being stern. 

She had a musical laugh. “I cannot deny your point. Halldόra, then.”

“My friends call me Dόra,” I told her, extending my hand. “We do not know each other well, but we will be working closely together, which is as good a basis for friendship as any.”

Her smile grew wider as she took my hand firmly in hers. “Truly, that is how many of my friendships have formed.”

Cassandra and Cullen filed in then, followed closely by Leliana. Brief greetings ensued, and then the Spymaster got down to business.

“Several opportunities have come to my attention in the Hinterlands,” she said briskly. “I would send you, Herald, and a few others to attend to them. The people view you as a symbol of hope now, and we would use that to our advantage. If you are seen out in the world, spreading the Inquisition’s name and influence, it would be greatly beneficial to us.”

I murmured my assent, looking over the map spread before us on the table. “I’ll do what I can. Where are these Hinterlands?”

Cullen pointed them out to me, and my eyes traced the route from Haven to the symbol marking Redcliff. 

“Do we have horses, or is this a walking expedition?” I asked, pacing off the distance with my fingers. 

“We don’t have the horses to spare yet—that’s part of what we hope you’ll be able to arrange for us there,” stated Cullen apologetically.

“In that case, I can make it there by mid-afternoon tomorrow if I leave at dawn,” I told him. “Possibly earlier, if I’m on my own, but if you want to send others with me it could be a bit longer.”

Silence met my words. I looked up at the others, trying to decipher what they were thinking. Cullen looked impressed, Josephine looked bewildered, Cassandra had an eyebrow raised but was otherwise straight-faced, and Leliana was as unreadable as ever. No one spoke. 

“Is there a problem?” I asked cautiously. 

“No,” Leliana answered, amusement twitching at her lips as she looked at the rest of the war council. “You can leave a while after dawn, as well. Spend a few days in the Hinterlands, find Horsemaster Dennet if you can. There’s also a Chantry member, Mother Giselle, who wishes to speak with you. If we can convince her to support the Inquisition, it may go a long way toward decreasing tensions with the rest of the Chantry.”

“Will do,” I replied, once again stooping over the map. One of the many skills I had honed since Alduin’s return was the ability to memorize quickly. I studied the names and symbols on the thick parchment. Fereldan, bounded by open ocean to the east, and the narrow Waking Sea to the north. An arrow to the west pointed to Orlais, but that side of the map was covered in reports and invisible to me. The most embellished point on the map labeled a city named Denerim—the capital, I assumed. When I was certain I could picture the map in my head without the physical copy in front of me, I stood. 

“Who shall I take with me?” I asked. 

“The three of us,” Leliana said, gesturing to herself, Cullen, and Josephine, “must stay here to handle things. I recommend Cassandra accompany you, however. Choose perhaps two others from Haven. Scout Harding and her officers will meet you in the field.”

I looked at Cassandra. “I don’t really know anyone besides the four of you, and Solas and Varric.”

She grimaced at the mention of Varric. “Very well,” she grumbled. “I suppose I can put up with Varric’s jokes for a few days.”

“Better you than me,” Cullen muttered.


	5. Stories Over Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There's Some Skyrim Lore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk I though the storytime bit was fine when I wrote it and now I'm not convinced BUT I'M RUNNING WITH IT ANYWAYS so I'm sorry if it's boring to most people...but if it is, let me know, and I'll back off on Dora's anecdotes in future chapters. Enjoy~

Four days had passed since the Herald of Andraste had departed for the Hinterlands. Cullen had watched her depart, the large pack she had arrived with loaded on her back. Two swords had jutted out above her shoulders, and the odd staff was strapped across her pack so as not to tangle in her legs. Josephine had fretted that the weight was too much; assuring her that the lodgings she had been provided would be perfectly secure until her return. Halldόra had laughed, telling the Ambassador that she was used to hauling all her gear around and would feel uncomfortable without it.

Now she was back, along with Mother Giselle and some much needed good news. 

“Master Dennet will provide horses for the Inquisition as soon as the watchtowers are assembled,” she was reporting to the crowd gathered around the War Table. Varric and Solas had delivered their brief written reports and departed to find a hot meal. Halldόra had opted to stay behind and deliver her report verbally. Cullen was impressed by her dedication. 

“My men will make quick work of that,” he told her. “The Inquisition will have horses before you know it. Hopefully even before your next mission.”

“Horsemaster Dennet has already provided a horse for the Herald,” Cassandra said impishly, sending a teasing look to the blonde woman. “As a sign of his esteem. The Herald avoided riding it on our way back to Haven.”

The woman in question flushed slightly. “The rest of you were walking. It made no sense for me to ride.”

“Speaking of horses for the Herald,” Leliana interjected, “we have garnered the attention of the finest armorers in the land, and they would not see our message conveyed unadorned. They offer a mount that reflects the flames of the Inquisition, for the Herald of Andraste. It is, by all accounts, magnificent—suited for both parade and battlefield.”

“Do I need such a mount?” Halldόra queried. “I’m truly more comfortable on my own two feet.”

“It would do our image good to be seen with such a steed,” Josephine declared, hastily making notes on her writing board. “If you like, I can arrange assurances with some of my associates for its safe delivery to us.”

“Thank you, Josie, that would be helpful,” Leliana told her. Cullen stifled a small smile as the Herald sighed in resignation. 

“It sounds like you’ve done good work in the Hinterlands,” he said. “New recruits from the area have been pouring in.”

“She is remarkably willing to do any and all tasks that are set before her,” Cassandra told him. “She closed rifts, delivered messages, found lost animals and relatives…her small kindnesses probably did more to spread the message of the Inquisition than even stabilizing the Breach.”

Halldόra shrugged. “It’s just what I do. However, I would like to go back when the watchtowers are built, to inform Dennet personally, and to see to some other rumors in the area. I’m sure there are more rifts to be closed, too.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Leliana said. “Mother Giselle thinks it would be beneficial for you to go to Orlais, to meet the clerics of the Chantry and try to sway them to our cause. Josephine, what needs to be done before we send the Herald to Val Royeaux?”

“I will need a few days to make the arrangements, and it would be polite to inform the involved parties and anyone of note that the Herald will be making an appearance. Time must be allowed for such messages to arrive.”

“Very well. Stay in Haven for a few days, and then spend a few more days in the Hinterlands. After that, you will go to Val Royeaux,” Leliana instructed. “Is that everything we have for this evening?”

Murmurs of assent sounded through the room, and Leliana picked up her reports, aligned the edges with a snap. Cullen picked up his own pile of reports, much less elegantly than the Spymaster. 

“Herald, if you have a moment, I would speak with you,” Josephine said as the others turned to leave the room. 

“Certainly,” the tall woman replied. “What do you need?”

“Though we have tried to keep your origins quiet, whispers have still gotten out. Now, there are some nasty rumors circulating about you and your people. I have been working to negate them, but it would help if I knew more about you and how you live.”

Cullen stopped, curious to hear more about Halldόra’s strange homeland. He idly noticed that both Leliana and Cassandra were listening as well. 

The Herald chuckled. “Not much differently from the people here, that I’ve noticed,” she countered. “What sort of rumors are they spreading?”

“I…do not wish to repeat them,” Josephine said primly. “But what about your personal life? Parents? A sweetheart? What sort of place do you live in?”

Cullen felt a pang of shock. It had never even occurred to him that she might have had a family—even a husband?—in her Skyrim. From the look on Cassandra’s face, she hadn’t considered the possibility either. 

Halldόra considered. “My parents are long dead,” she sighed. “But I do have two wonderful daughters, Sophie and Runa.”

“Then you are married?” Josephine was jotting notes as Halldόra spoke. 

“No.”

Even Cullen noticed the briefly scandalized look that crossed Josephine’s face. The Herald barked a laugh. 

“They were orphans, both of them. I adopted them.” Her mouth quirked in a wry smile as she thought about her children. Cullen wanted to ask for more details, but was hesitant to pry into her life. 

“We live in Raven Rock. It’s a settlement on the island of Solstheim. Technically it’s a part of Morrowind, not Skyrim, but it’s a place where I can escape from the day-to-day politics of the Jarls. I…serve as sort of an advisor to the High King, and am involved with several of the guilds around the province. Every few weeks I travel around to each hold, trying to resolve disputes and keep an eye on things. Until recently, we were engaged in civil war, so tensions are still high.”

“Do your daughters accompany you on these travels?” Josephine seemed charmed with the idea of their fierce, foreign Herald having children. 

“Sometimes. Other times they stay with a friend on Solstheim, or travel with me part of the way and stay at one of my homes in the holds.”

“You have multiple properties?” Cassandra seemed taken aback. 

“I’m a thane for each of the Jarls. It’s one of the requirements,” Halldόra laughed. 

“I think that will be enough information for me to start with,” Josephine said, still scratching her quill across the parchment. “Thank you, Dόra.”

“Dόra?” Cullen questioned. 

“It’s what my friends call me,” the Herald told him. Then she smirked. “If you promise to play nice, Commander, you can probably be my friend too.”

He felt a blush bloom in his cheeks at her teasing, but laughed. “In that case, you must call me Cullen, instead of Commander.”

“Deal,” she said, then looked expectantly at Leliana. The Spymaster chortled. 

“We can be friends too,” she said. “But on one condition. I cannot be friends with anyone whom I only know through my reports. Thus, we must engage in at least one casual setting together. Perhaps we can all set aside time tonight to go to the tavern?”

“Now _that_ ,” Halldόra exclaimed, “is exactly how friendship should work.”

*

I spent the next hour or so wandering through Haven, chatting with the shopkeepers and idly taking in the surroundings. The town had become busier since my trip to the Hinterlands, and I realized that Cullen hadn’t been exaggerating when he said they’d had a significant influx of new recruits. With those recruits had come civilians—some family members of the new militia, some shopkeepers or craftspeople, hoping to ply their trade with the army. 

I spoke briefly with Varric and Solas, inviting them to tavern later. Varric was enthusiastic, but Solas didn’t seem of a mind to enjoy such a gathering. He was still a bit of an enigma to me.

“I’ll tell stories from home,” I promised, and his eyes lit up as he agreed to join us.

When the time came, I made my way to the small tavern.

“First round’s on me, Rosie,” Varric called as I entered the building.

“Thought I was Rose,” I retorted as I took the chair he had indicated for me. Everyone else had already gathered, and smiled at me in greeting. 

“It’s still a work in progress,” the short man said cheekily. “I’m not sure which is the better fit yet. So, you promised me a story a few days ago. I seem to recall you saying ‘going from the most wanted person in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful isn’t the craziest thing that’s happened to me in a single day.’”

His enthusiasm was contagious. I laughed heartily. “I did, didn’t I? Alright then. Where do I begin…”

Raised eyebrows around the table had followed Varric’s proclamation, but their smiles encouraged me to continue. 

“A bit of background information first,” I decided. “Skyrim was part of the Empire of Tamriel for quite some time. However, the Empire has been weakening since the beginning of the fourth era. The Aldmeri Dominion, a rival political force, took advantage of the Empire’s weakness to expand their borders. Eventually, they were able to take the Imperial City.”

“How long ago was this?” Cullen asked me, looking intently curious. 

“A little more than twenty-five years ago. The Empire retaliated, but wanted to avoid further bloodshed. So, they signed a treaty: the White-Gold Concordant.”

I paused to take a gulp of my ale. It was fruitier than what I was accustomed to, but seemed just as robust as any good Nord ale. 

“One of the tenets of the White-Gold Concordant was that the worship of Talos be banned. Talos is the only one of the nine Divines to have originally been mortal. He was Tiber Septim, first Emperor of the Third Empire, greatest of the Cyrodilic Emperors in history. But the elves of the Aldmeri Dominion think it heresy to worship a man as a Divine.

“There were some more violent political maneuvers—I’ll spare you the details—but the short version is that with the distraction of the Great War happening in Cyrodiil, there was a land grab in the Reach, in western Skyrim. Ulfric Stormcloak, son of the Jarl of Windhelm, was brought in with his militia to recapture the Reach. One of his conditions for ceding control of the hold back to the Jarl of the Reach was that Talos worship be permitted.”

Varric groaned. “I think I see where this is going.”

I nodded. “Quite right. The Jarl of the Reach agreed to Ulfric’s demands, but shortly thereafter the Aldmeri Dominion demanded strict adherence to the terms of the White-Gold Concordant, so the Jarl was forced to renege on his promise to Ulfric. Eventually, Ulfric became Jarl of Windhelm, and thus was in attendance at the Moot to determine the next High King of Skyrim.”

“Don’t tell me: he wanted to be king instead?” Varric guessed.

“More or less,” I laughed. “He used the Moot to voice his opinion that Skyrim should secede from the Empire. The ultimate result was that he challenged High King Torygg to a duel. There’s been considerable debate on whether the rules of the duel were followed or not, but in the end Torygg lay dead and Ulfric had fled back to Windhelm. Thus began the Stormcloak rebellion.”

“So this was the start of the civil war you mentioned,” Cassandra surmised, “but I have yet to hear of your part in it.”

“Yes. And my apologies—I don’t know how well the story would flow without giving you at least some background information. When I share tales in Skyrim, everyone is already aware of the political climate and state of the country.”

“I think this is fascinating, myself,” Cullen declared. Varric rolled his eyes at the Commander. 

I had to laugh. “Well I’m getting to the meat of the story now,” I assured them. 

“Ulfric put out the call: to all true sons and daughters of Skyrim, fight the oppressors who would topple our beloved Ninth Divine from his pedestal, and who see us as no better than half-feral dogs. It…was actually not that long ago, but I was young and inexperienced then. I considered myself a true Nord, and saw only the nobility of Ulfric and his Stormcloaks. So I set off to join the rebellion.

“I was captured before I even reached Windhelm. An Imperial soldier snuck up on me and socked me in the back of the head. I never even knew he was there. All I remember is waking up with my arms bound, in a wagon with three other prisoners.”

Varric chuckled around the mug lifted to his lips. “You might not want to admit that, Rosie. People won’t want to believe their Herald can be so easily apprehended.”

“It gets worse,” I told him, grinning. “Sitting right next to me, bound and gagged, was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself.”

There were gasps all around the table. 

“Yes. I’d been intending to join his army, and instead we were both captured and were on our way to the executioner’s block. We arrived in Helgen, a village under Imperial control, with another wagon full of captured Stormcloaks. They checked us off their list, and lined us up to hear our last rites.”

“But you weren’t a Stormcloak!” Cullen protested.

“I’d intended to be,” I said, amused at his outburst. 

“But you weren’t! You hadn’t joined yet! So how could you have been on their list? Why didn’t you tell them it was a mistake?”

“I’m with Curly on this one,” Varric told me tartly. “But I’m guessing you got out of it somehow.”

“Oh yes. If it’s any consolation, Cullen, the officer taking our names tried to argue on my behalf, but his superior overrode him. I’d been captured in the vicinity of Jarl Ulfric, so I would get no mercy.

“The first man was called up. Just as he knelt before the axman, a great roar sounded through the mountains. It was like nothing we’d ever heard before. The Imperials were antsy, heads swiveling around, asking ‘what was that?!’ To be honest, the other prisoners and I didn’t really give a damn.

“The Stormcloak on the block knelt, as proud of his heritage while facing his death as he had been in life, and the axe fell. His head rolled, and the executioner kicked his body to the side. Then, it was my turn.”

I had to admit, I was enjoying this. My audience was wide-eyed and gaping, sitting on the edge of their seats as they listened eagerly to my tale. 

“I strode up to the block.” _Blood was pooling around it. I tried not to look at the head lolling around in the basket set there to catch it. Tried not to think that mine would be next._ “I knelt, and that strange roar sounded again. I barely heard it. The executioner raised his great axe, and I braced myself for the final blow. I refused to close my eyes. ‘I am a true daughter of the sky,’ I thought. ‘I will not go to my death with my eyes closed like a frightened child.’

“Just as the executioner began his downward swing, a great shadow fell across me, and there, just at the edge of my vision, I saw it: a great dragon black as night, perching on the tower above me. His red eyes bore into mine, and he spoke. The dragon tongue is a language of great power. Nords have been known to master it—Tiber Septim was one such, and Ulfric was trained in its use as well—but dragons are inherently magical beings, and it is their natural language. The dragon said a word, and I was knocked off the dais, while he summoned great fireballs to fall from the sky. The world spun, and my ears rang, but one of my fellow captives—a Stormcloak named Ralof—helped me up and into a nearby tower. 

“Jarl Ulfric and the other prisoners—those who had survived—joined us, and we prepared to flee. We sped to the top of the tower, determined that this would not be the end for us, but the dragon burst a great hole in the wall and sprayed fire over the Stormcloaks in front of me. Ralof and I narrowly missed incineration. 

“When the dragon flew off in search of more prey, we crept to the edge of the hole. The upper tower had collapsed, and there was no way past the rubble. ‘See there?’ Ralof asked me, pointing at the burned husk of the inn across from the tower. ‘Jump to the roof. I will gather who I can, and we will follow you.’

“‘Are you crazy?’ I said. ‘Jump to the roof of a burning inn, while there’s a dragon on the loose, and an army that just tried to kill me?’ ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I’ll find you.’ So I jumped. I fell through burning thatch, landing hard on the upper floor of the inn. I fled to the lower level as quickly as I could and scurried outside, eyes on the sky. I bolted right into the path of the Imperial soldier, Hadvar—the one who wouldn’t have executed me, if it had been up to him.

“He led me safely through the maze of burning and collapsed buildings. At one point, the dragon landed atop a wall directly above us. I could have reached out and touched the tip of its wing. 

“Finally, we reached Helgen Keep, where Ralof found me, just as he said he would. Both Hadvar and Ralof shouted at me to follow them, and they raced to different doors into the Keep. While I had no personal quarrel with Hadvar, Ralof had been a fellow victim of the execution attempt, so I followed him inside. There, we managed to find an old dungeon passage out of the village. As we exited beyond the walls of Helgen, we saw the dragon fly off into the distance, roaring its destruction of the settlement to the skies. From afar, it was magnificent—the most majestic creature I’ve ever seen, illuminated against the afternoon sun. We could barely believe the events that had conspired to get us there, to witness such a thing. But we were alive, and we were free.”

My words were met with silence. Every one of my companions, even staid Leliana, had their mouths hanging wide open, an expression of disbelief on their face. I sipped my ale smugly.

Solas was the first to recover. “Are dragons common in your land, then?”

I laughed. “They weren’t. Until that point, everyone thought them extinct, or even creatures of myth. They returned though, and now it is not unusual to encounter them when traveling the wilds.”

“You’re shitting me,” Varric spluttered, finally recovering from his shock. “You were on death row, the blade literally at your throat, and a dragon just happened to show up and sack the town?”

“Yep,” I answered cheerfully, enjoying his incredulity.

He didn’t seem to know what to say. Neither did anyone else. The silence was just becoming awkward when Leliana finally spoke. 

“Well,” she said, face once again composed. “That story satisfied my requirement for some sort of social interaction prior to declarations of friendship. Thank you, Dόra.”

“You’re welcome, Leliana.”


	6. A Friendly Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There is No Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character interaction?? CHARACTER INTERACTION!!!

Cassandra and the Inquisition’s Advisors gathered early the next morning to discuss the previous evening. 

“Are you certain we should be meeting to discuss her in the War Room?” Cullen asked as they crowded around the enormous table. “There are more inconspicuous locations in Haven.”

“Yes, but none are so secure,” Leliana told him. “She is still something of an unknown to us; I am certain that even if she hears there is a war council that she was not invited to participate in, she will not be overly offended.”

“She seems no stranger to politicking,” Josephine added, dipping her ever ready quill into the ink pot. 

“Besides that, I encountered her on my way here.” Cassandra’s tone was dry. “She was running errands for Adan, the apothecary, and did not look like she wanted to be distracted.”

“So early?” Cullen asked, eyebrows raising in surprise. It was barely past dawn.

“My reports indicate she sleeps very little,” Leliana said. “She seems to be always moving, always doing something of use to the Inquisition and its people.”

“Cassandra’s reports from the field have indicated much the same,” Josephine noted, nodding at her.

“Yes,” the Seeker replied. “I was surprised by her willingness to be so helpful, especially since this is not her homeland.”

“From what she said yesterday,” Cullen mused, “it seems she did similar things in Skyrim. Making rounds throughout the countryside, appointed thane by the Jarls…”

“And,” Josephine quoted, “a ‘sort-of advisor to the High King.’ That suggests the position is unofficial, but she obviously has her king’s ear.”

“I thought you’d pick up on that tidbit, Josie,” Leliana teased. “But having the king’s ear could mean a great deal of things. There is still much we don’t know about Halldόra.”

“How is she in combat?” Cullen asked Cassandra. “Your reports have mentioned fighting rogue mages and Templars but I’ve yet to see her in action.”

“She is ferocious.” Cassandra’s gaze grew distant as she remembered the first time she had seen the Herald in battle. “When we came to the Crossroads, there were Templars and mages everywhere. Magic was cast and Silenced immediately; it was pure chaos. She charged in with no hesitation, drawing her swords. She was a whirlwind of death on that battlefield. Corpses piled behind her wherever she went.”

“Did she use magic at all?” Leliana quizzed intently. 

“No. Her swords are obviously enchanted, but she has not used any spells that I have seen, in combat or otherwise.”

“And what of her staff?”

“It remained strapped to her pack the entire journey.”

They fell silent for a moment, absorbing this information. 

“She did say she didn’t know many spells,” Cullen ventured. “And it sounds like she is accustomed to swordplay. Perhaps magic is not a large part of her life after all.”

“Or, perhaps she is lying. Perhaps she does not want us to see how powerful she really is.”

Josephine sighed at Leliana’s suspicious nature. Cassandra quirked a small smile at the Antivan. 

“Unfortunately, Leliana is right. Halldόra is mostly unknown to us. We cannot afford to trust her unconditionally. Much as we might prefer otherwise.”

Josephine grimaced unhappily, but nodded. The Ambassador had taken an immediate shine to their mysterious Herald. The news of her daughters, and the tale she’d spun for them at the tavern, had cemented Josephine’s idea of her as a glorious hero. 

Cassandra could understand. She had not spoken much to the Herald on the journey to the Hinterlands, but she found herself liking the woman more and more as she got to know her better. She was an impressive fighter, and seemed to possess a genuine heart.

“We need to understand her better,” Leliana decided. “Obviously I can find no information on her past. Anything she tells any of you, no matter how small, will help to fill in the puzzle. We can only pray that the picture it shows is one that will help the Inquisition.”

*

I spent the next three days in a flurry activity around Haven. My natural aversion to staying in one place too long, coupled with a sense of anxiety whenever I really stopped to think about my situation, made me antsy and restive. I gathered herbs and ore, hunted any animal that crossed my path, and brought the materials back to Haven to fill requisitions or deliver to whoever might have a need for it. 

Adan taught me the properties of the alchemical ingredients in Thedas, and gave me recipes to create a small variety of potions, tonics, and grenade flasks—a strange alchemical device that we have no proxy for in Tamriel. I watched Harritt smith the ore I brought him—most seemed similar to what I was used to in Skyrim. I delivered pelts to Seggrit, the merchant, who in turn saw that they were properly tanned before being distributed for blankets, clothing, or leather.

Swapping stories in the tavern became a nightly event. It wasn’t often the full group—Cassandra and the advisors, Varric and Solas, and me—but it became a beacon of hope and joy in an atmosphere stifled with worry. Skyrim had been charged with tension during the uprising, but Nords are always a rowdy bunch, with a love of drinking, music, and stories. The denizens of Haven seemed downright dour by comparison, and I looked forward to our nightly gatherings as a way to recharge.

Varric was in constant attendance, as was, to my surprise, Cassandra. The Seeker hadn’t struck me as the type to enjoy idle tales so much. Cullen and Leliana were often called away by their duties, but Josephine was a frequent presence, always bouncy and cheerful. Solas often joined us as well, but he mostly stayed silent, preferring to listen to others rather than do the talking himself. Any number of times, I nearly forgot he was there. 

Two nights after my return from the Hinterlands, I sat in the tavern with Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, and Varric. Leliana had pleaded prior responsibilities—though I was certain at least one of the patrons at the other tables was a spy, memorizing our conversation word for word to be reported back to the redheaded rogue. 

Cullen and Cassandra were involved in a discussion about battle tactics and training for the recruits. Varric, noticing Josephine’s glazing eyes, had launched into an amusing story about his brother and a business deal gone awry. I swilled my ale around in the tankard, half paying attention to both conversations. 

“What sort of training have you had, Dόra?” Cullen asked, drawing my full attention.

“Nothing formal,” I shrugged. “Almost all Nords are trained in fighting by their parents, at least a little bit. Then we continue to learn by watching the warriors in our communities, sparring with them if we’re old enough.”

“Are all Nords so fearsome in battle, then?” Cassandra asked in amazement.

“No,” I laughed. “I’ve had a unique education. I joined the Companions, a guild of fighters renowned throughout the holds. They don’t offer standardized training, but the senior members train with the newer ones, passing on what they know. It results in a very mixed style, very different from your regimented training regimes here.”

“Did you ever join that rebel army? The Stormcloaks?” Cullen questioned curiously. 

“Yes,” I told him, fiddling with my now-empty tankard. “But…being one of the few survivors of Helgen, I sort of unwittingly became a messenger to the Jarls, telling them of the return of the dragons. In particular, I assisted the Jarl of Whiterun and his court wizard with researching the dragons, trying to find how best to defend against them. By the time I joined Lord Ulfric’s forces, I was an important messenger throughout the province. I couldn’t stay in Windhelm to undergo training as a typical recruit would.”

It was another half-truth. As Dragonborn, I’d had responsibilities that took precedence over my own hopes and desires, much as I might wish otherwise. Ulfric had actually been one of the most encouraging Jarls, giving me important jobs and special treatment while pushing me to seek my destiny. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask about your weapons,” Cassandra cut in while Cullen was digesting my words. I could tell he had questions about my duties, and was happy for the distraction. I drew the blades that I had taken to carrying around Haven with me. 

“I have never seen such a narrow blade before,” the Commander mused, Cassandra nodding in agreement. “It seems more likely to shatter on impact.”

I chuckled. “Bigger isn’t always better, Commander. They’re stronger than they look.” I laid them both on the table before us. Varric and Josephine had cut short their conversation to watch the display.

“The style is called a katana,” I explained, fingering Dragonbane. “I found this one in Sky Haven Temple. It was a fortress belonging to the Blades, bodyguards of the emperor. They were disbanded when the White-Gold Concordant was signed. The Blades were derived from the old Akaviri Dragonguard, an order of fierce dragon hunters. The katana was their preferred weapon.”

“It is enchanted, yes?” Cassandra asked, reaching out a hesitant finger to brush against the blade. 

I nodded. “Yes. Shock damage, and this sword is particularly effective against dragons. This one,” I moved my hand to Harkon’s sword, “I took off the body of a vampire lord. He wanted to fulfill some obscure prophecy and blot out the sun, letting his minions walk freely in the day and massacre the mortals.”

They stared at me. 

“Vampires are a myth,” Josephine declared, but her words lacked certainty. 

“Not in Skyrim, I assure you,” I smiled at her—close-lipped, I might add. 

_In fact, you’re sitting right across from one._

“You stopped a vampire from blocking out the sun?” Varric asked incredulously. “Rose, you’re something else. How did you find the time to do this with your civil war and dragon-scouting?”

“The civil war had ended by then,” I chortled. “Ulfric had ascended the throne, and the Last Dragonborn had defeated Alduin, who was responsible for resurrecting the dragons. Skyrim seemed almost tame after that. It was boring, so I joined an order of vampire hunters called the Dawnguard.”

“It was boring,” Varric repeated slowly. “So you just decided to go kill a vampire that was trying to end the world.”

“As I’ve told Cullen,” I grinned, “I don’t do anything by halves.”

The Commander was staring at me, an odd look in his eye. “I’m beginning to realize just how much of an understatement that is,” he murmured. “In fact,” he declared, rising to his feet, “I would be honored to cross blades with you sometime, Halldόra.” He gave a stiff little half bow. Josephine giggled. 

“Why so formal, Commander? If you want a sparring match, you have but to ask.” My voice was almost a purr. I had watched Cullen bark commands to his men, occasionally demonstrating proper technique, and was interested in seeing how he moved in battle. 

His face reddened. “Er…yes, of course.” He sat back down, still blushing. Cassandra was grinning at him unabashedly.

“Curly, I’m sure you’re a force to be reckoned with, but my money’s on the Herald,” Varric told him cheekily. 

“Oh, I will also put money on Dόra,” Josephine said, inciting a laugh from Varric. Cullen groaned, Cassandra patting his arm in sympathy. 

I chuckled. “In that case, I will see you first thing in the morning, Commander.”

*

Dawn had broken, and Cullen found himself the center of attention as he and Cassandra walked to the training grounds. 

“Damn that dwarf,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the excited whispers that followed them.

“You should not have asked her to spar in front of him,” Cassandra said, firmly unsympathetic. Cullen thought she was secretly enjoying his misery. “You know he turns everything into a spectacle.”

Cullen groaned when he saw the size of the crowd outside the command tent. Why was it that any other day his lieutenants had to threaten physical violence to get the recruits out of their bedrolls, but today they were all awake and bright-eyed? Even Josephine and Solas were there. 

Halldόra was there as well, swinging at a dummy with two of the wooden practice swords. Her red and black leather armor fit malleably, moving with her easily as she flexed and whirled. From the look of her, she’d already been there quite some time.

“Does she ever sleep?” He complained sourly. 

“Not much,” Cassandra said in a low voice, for his ears only. “One of Leliana’s scouts reported her sneaking past the watch to go hunting in the middle of the night.”

The subject of their attention noticed them then. “Cassandra, Cullen,” she greeted, turning away from the practice dummy. Cullen fancied that the faceless thing was looking at him ruefully. “I was just warming up. Figured blunt weapons to start with. I’d hate to accidentally kill you in our first match.”

“Appreciated,” Cullen chuckled wanly, moving to fetch one of the wooden blades for himself. The pair stood facing one another, ringed by whispering watchers. 

The Commander eyed her. Her leather armor was light and flexible, so she’d be fast on her feet. His heavy plate made him slower, more ungainly, but he could shrug off minor damage easily. He also had the added advantage of being accustomed to the training swords, whereas they were a far cry from Halldόra’s katanas.

“Begin,” Cassandra called from her post beside the command tent. 

Halldόra didn’t hesitate. She charged forward, right sword extended, left dropped low in a defensive position. He blocked her swing with his own sword, shield matching the movement of her left blade in case she tried to retaliate with it. He parried, and she twisted her wrist to swat his blade aside, dodging out of the way.

They circled one another for a time, each testing the other’s defenses. The crowd whooped whenever one of the combatants delivered a blow, calling out encouragement when it was blocked. If Cullen had thought the difference between the size and shape of the katanas and the practice blades would pose a challenge for the Herald, he was dead wrong.

She picked up her pace, decreasing the time between her attacks, searching for an opening. Cullen bashed her with his shield, trying to knock her off balance. It connected, and she grunted with the impact, but she didn’t fall. Cullen was impressed. A lesser warrior would have been bowled over by the blow. She dodged around behind him, regrouping.

“You were a Templar,” she stated as he turned to face her. 

He nodded. “Yes.” They had discussed his past briefly, his military career and duties. The idea of Templars having the ability to suppress magic had baffled her. 

“It shows in your movement,” she said. “I’ve thought that while watching you with the recruits, too.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, lunging forward, but she blocked his thrust with her blade and danced aside. 

“Your order has a systematic training style. All the recruits learn the same drills, the same techniques, and it is obvious in your fighting. You, the recruits, the Templars we fought in the Hinterlands—the style is identical. It makes you predictable.”

He thought about that as they continued their pattern of thrust, parry, swing, block. It made sense. 

“In what way?” He asked curiously. 

“Well,” she drawled, and a chill ran down his spine when a smirk bloomed on her face. “For one thing, you are far too dependent on that shield.”

She launched a rapid series of swing at him, forcing him to retreat a few steps. He almost didn’t see the swing that came down from overhead, and barely got his shield high enough in time. Then she immediately slashed low with her other blade. He deflected that one with his sword, but then she dropped to the ground, using the momentum of her attack to pivot her body around one arm, slamming her boots into the back of his knees. He staggered, struggling to remain upright, shield dropping low in an attempt to counterbalance his weight. 

She torqued her body so that she was sliding around behind him, and a blade connected with his ribs. The wood _cracked_ as it struck, and the blow was hard enough that he grunted, even with the protection of his armor. He fell forward onto one knee, and suddenly her blade was at his unprotected throat, the jagged end of the broken sword held menacingly in front of his eyes. 

Cullen was astonished. There was a deafening silence for a heartbeat, and then the audience gathered around them cheered. Praise was shouted at both of them, so much that Cassandra could barely make herself heard. 

“It seems the victory goes to the Herald of Andraste!”

Halldόra grinned at him, tossing her broken sword aside and reaching out to him with the hand that had held it. He allowed her to pull him to his feet, smiling sheepishly. 

“I haven’t been beaten so soundly in years,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Their audience was dispersing, still excitedly chattering about the match. Varric was running around, collecting and handing out the results of the bets he had taken. Josephine applauded animatedly.

The Nord laughed. “You fought well. We should give some thought to adding new elements to our training regimens though. We do a disservice to our recruits otherwise.”

Cassandra strode over to join them. “I have never seen anyone so thoroughly dissect the Templar’s combat style and take advantage of it,” she declared. “But I agree. Our forces must be a match for anything.”

Cullen nodded. “Perhaps you would care to help with that?” He asked Halldόra. 

She rubbed the scar on her cheek thoughtfully. “I can do that. Small groups, melee style bouts.” She grinned suddenly. “Sounds like fun.”

“Good,” he chuckled. “By the way, we received word that the watchtowers in the Hinterlands are up. Can you be ready to go fetch Master Denett tomorrow?”

She gave him a mock salute. “Aye, Commander.” Cassandra snorted at her antics.

“Then we should prepare,” the Nevarran reminded her. “Let us go see to it now.”

The two marched away, swiftly joined by the excited Ambassador, who seemed to be gushing about the match. Cullen smiled as he watched them depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we'll leave Haven again in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!


	7. Tale of a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Our Protagonist FINALLY Realizes That Varric is a Dwarf and I Can Finally Stop Referring to Him as "the Short Man"

My pack was strapped to the back of the saddle, with the Sanguine Rose running along the horse’s flank. At Cassandra’s insistence, I was riding the Ferelden Forder that Master Dennet had provided. I rode slowly so that my companions could easily keep pace on foot. I would have preferred to lead the horse, but Cassandra had convinced me that it would win Dennet to our cause more quickly if I was seen riding the horse he’d given me.

“So, Rosie,” Varric said, breaking the silence of the morning. “You haven’t been privileged to hear the Tale of the Champion, have you?”

Cassandra groaned as I shook my head. “Can’t you just give her the book and let her read it on her own?”

“But Seeker, I was just trying to keep us entertained so the miles pass more quickly,” he protested innocently. She sighed. 

Solas chuckled. “You must admit, Cassandra, that Varric’s tales are always amusing, no matter if you’ve heard them before.”

The short man threw the elf a cheeky grin. “You see, Seeker? Our story begins in Lothering, following Leandra Amell-Hawke and her three children as they fled the approaching Blight.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I interjected, “but I’ve heard this term before—Blight—and it seems to hold some sort of significance that I don’t understand.”

Varric gaped at me before smacking his forehead. “Of course! You don’t know the tale of the Hero of Fereldan either! Well Seeker, would you rather hear the tale of the Hero or Hawke?”

“The Hero,” Cassandra answered instantly. “I’ve heard you tell Hawke’s story recently, after all.”

He laughed. “The Hero it is then. It was about eleven years ago now when the Darkspawn began massing in the Korcari Wilds. Cailan Theirin, King of Fereldan, gathered his armies at Ostagar to hold back the horde…”

Varric was an excellent storyteller. I listened in awe as he wove the tale together, filling it with enough informational commentary that I never felt lost. The landscape passed by in a blur as we were regaled with Lamia Mahariel’s exploits. We traveled in solemn silence as Varric told of the tragic battle at Ostagar, the rescue of the last two Gray Wardens by a Witch of the Wilds, and gasped in astonishment as he dramatically divulged the battle with legions of undead at Redcliff. 

Cassandra hung on his every word as he spoke of a young boy turned to an abomination to save his father, Arl Eamon, and the Hero’s decision to seek the Circle Mages’ help to save him. Solas’ brows rose as the other man described the horrors of Kinloch, blood mages run rampant, slaughtering everyone in their way. Cassandra had an oddly sorrowful look on her face while the tale was told, but I was too caught up in the telling to really wonder why. 

Before I knew it we were at the Crossroads and Varric was wrapping up the events in Redcliff after the Hero had passed the trials at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. 

“Well, I’ll have to finish Mahariel’s adventures later,” he said as one of the Inquisition’s scouts waved in greeting. “For now let’s go recruit this horsemaster.”

Our errand passed quickly. Master Dennet made good on his word, and even agreed to accompany his horses and stablehands to Haven. He also gave us three additional horses for my companions to ride. Varric complained rigorously about the height of the beasts, and had to be boosted into the saddle every time he mounted, but I was pleased at the prospect of making better time. 

We retired with our new mounts to the nearest Inquisition camp. The plan was to spend two nights in the Hinterlands, and since we had a full day left we decided to take the rest of the afternoon for our leisure. I’d gathered enough materials to fill some of the requisitions that the local officers had submitted, and spent the early evening roaming near camp, gathering herbs and ore and hunting fennecs while Cassandra prepared dinner. 

After we ate, I carefully prepared the pelts I had gathered for tanning. It was Solas’ turn to clean our supper dishes, and Varric continued his tale as we did our chores. Cassandra sharpened her sword, and even the requisition officer and off-duty scouts joined us around the fire. 

The next stage of the Hero’s journey was to find her people, the Dalish elves, and entreat their aid against the Blight. Lamia Mahariel and her comrades—including one Sister Leliana—ventured deep into the Brecilian forest to find the clan, only to discover that the elves were plagued by werewolves and wouldn’t be able to offer assistance to the Gray Wardens unless the werewolf threat was removed. 

Varric had warmed to his larger audience, and embellished the story mightily. It was well into the night by the time he had finished, with Mahariel convincing the Dalish Keeper to let go his grudge and work with the spirit he had summoned to release the werewolves from his curse. The scouts excused themselves, some to their beds, and others to relieve their comrades on watch, but my three companions from Haven remained huddled around the fire.

“A drastic course of action, but an impressive feat of magic,” Solas mused softly. 

“We met one of the werewolves, in Kirkwall,” Varric said, his voice rusty from overuse. “He was being hunted by one of the Dalish, hell-bent on vengeance for the crimes he committed as a beast. Hawke convinced her to let him go.”

Solas looked at the short man expectantly, but Varric smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Not tonight, Chuckles. My throat needs to recover.”

“I knew a group of werewolves,” I said, to take the pressure off of Varric. The man had been talking all day; telling a tale of my own was the least I could do. Their eyes turned to me, and I hesitated.

“In fact…I was one,” I plunged ahead. They gaped at me. 

“Are you…still?” Varric asked hesitantly, looking like he’d almost rather not know. I laughed. 

“No, I am cured. You’re safe, Varric.” 

The relief on all three of their faces was almost comical. Cassandra made an impatient motion with her hand, urging me to get on with the story. 

“I told you I joined the Companions, right? Well each whelp—that’s what we call the new recruits—goes through a trial with a member of the circle along to observe their conduct, prior to becoming a full member. For my trial, I was tasked to retrieve a fragment of Wuuthrad, Ysgramor’s fabled weapon. Accompanying me as Shield-Brother was Farkas, a member of the Circle…”

*

Cassandra stayed awake long after Halldόra and the others had sought their beds. She was hunched over a stained writing board, a single small candle casting flickering lights on the parchment as she composed her report. 

_“You knew they were werewolves, and you still agreed to join the Circle?” Varric asked in astonishment as the Herald paused in her telling._

_The woman chuckled. “I was impulsive, and the power was alluring. Besides, I trusted my Shield-Brothers and Sisters. They were my family.”_

Cassandra’s quill skittered across the page as she recounted the conversation as accurately as she could. She’d been shocked at the Nord’s impetuous willingness to become a beast, binding her soul to one of their Daedric Lords. True, after some time she had cured herself of the infliction, but Cassandra had the distinct impression that it was more to honor the memory of the dead Harbinger, Kodlak, than out of any real desire to return to a human state.

Halldόra’s admission that she was the current Harbinger of the Companions had been an interesting revelation as well. She’d hastened to assure them that she wasn’t really a leader—she didn’t command the guild, but was more of a figurehead, whom the Companions looked to for advice and mediation. They were not obligated to abide by her decisions, Halldόra had stressed. 

The candle wavered fitfully as Cassandra huffed out a breath. The Herald might tell herself that she was not a leader, but she clearly had considerable power. Thane in all nine holds, some sort of advisor to the High King, and evidently the highest authority in a respected guild of mercenaries. Leliana would be most interested in this particular report. 

She lightly sprinkled sand over the final page, capping her inkwell and laying the quill aside. Her brow furrowed as she debated how best to get this report to the Spymaster. Leliana would undoubtedly want to know this information as soon as possible, but it wasn’t urgent. A crow would get the message to Haven before the group returned, but Cassandra privately mistrusted the practice of messenger birds. It was too easy to think that the bird might be killed or go astray, leaving the message to never reach the intended recipient, or worse, end up in an enemy’s hands. The Seeker eyed the manuscript in front of her. 

If she wanted to do things right, she’d write it out again and send one copy via crow and keep the backup on her person, to be delivered on arrival to Haven if anything happened to the first message. But her hand was already cramped from detailing the mission so far. She groaned and threw herself back on her bedroll. Let the report sit in her tent for one night. She could decide what to do with it in the morning.

*

I was preparing a large pot of porridge over the fire when Scout Harding strode in the next morning. My companions were not yet awake, though soft noises from the direction of the tents indicated that someone was stirring. 

“Your Worship,” she greeted quietly as she approached. I flashed a smile at her. The small woman had impressed me at our previous meeting in the Hinterlands. She practically oozed competence, offset by an understated humor. 

“What brings you here, Harding?” I asked her, rising from my crouch to shake her hand. 

“Sister Nightingale sent word that I was to accompany Master Dennet’s horses back to Haven. Supervise the stablehands, make sure no one steals the horses, that sort of thing.”

Cassandra emerged from her tent, fully dressed her heavy plate but still bleary eyed. She quirked an eyebrow at the scout as she approached the fire, wordlessly accepting the bowl of porridge I handed her. I gestured a question to Harding, but she waved the offer of food away. 

“I think your presence will be unnecessary,” I told her, continuing our conversation. “Master Dennet agreed to go to the Inquisition himself.”

“Really?” She sounded impressed. “That’s good news. I’ll still accompany him back to Haven. Can’t disobey a direct order from the Spymaster.”

“You’re going to Haven?” Cassandra sounded surprised, having missed our earlier dialogue. “Would you be willing to carry a message to Leliana for me?”

“Of course, Seeker Pentaghast.”

Varric stumbled out of his tent as Cassandra disappeared inside hers. He waved briefly at Harding, focused on the porridge bubbling over the fire. Solas was close behind him, looking far more alert than the other two. 

Cassandra strode back, a sheet of oiled leather wrapped tightly around her missive. “For Leliana’s eyes only,” she warned, handing the roll to the scout. 

“Understood, Ma’am.”

I eyed the correspondence curiously, wondering what was so important, but decided I’d be better off not asking. These people hadn’t given me any reason to distrust them thus far, and I would respect their privacy for the time being. 

“Any news from the area?” I asked instead, settling down to my own breakfast. 

Harding shrugged. “You made quite an impression that last time you were here. Morale amongst both soldiers and civilians is up considerably. Though I’ve heard rumors of additional fade rifts at both the Outskirts and Dwarfson’s Pass.”

“We’ll take care of those today, then,” I mused. “Anything else we should be aware of?”

“Not really. The Inquisiton has established a strong enough presence here that most of the threat from rebel mages and Templars has moved elsewhere.”

“Excellent news,” Cassandra praised, setting her bowl on the ground.

“Yeah,” Varric agreed, scraping at the bottom of his own bowl. “Until we have to go elsewhere and clear the bastards out again.”

*

“Finally, the Hero had called in all her allies but one. The Dalish and the Mages had agreed to join her army, Arl Eamon had been cured and was preparing to call the Landsmeet in Denerim.” Varric’s voice resounded as they traveled west through the mountains. The final rifts in the Hinterlands had been closed, Dennet and his herds had departed the previous day, and they were scheduled to leave for Val Royeaux in two days. They’d have a brief respite in Haven on the way. 

“The party of heroes journeyed through the Frostbacks—probably on the same path we’re taking now, come to think of it,” he continued his narration. “Their goal was Orzammar, where they would persuade the might of the dwarves to their side. They—”

He stopped abruptly. Halldόra, who’d been taking a swig from her water skin as he spoke, had choked rather impressively and was now coughing frantically, almost falling out of her saddle. Varric scowled at her in mock irritation for interrupting the flow of his tale. Cassandra helpfully pulled her horse in beside the Herald and pounded on her back. 

Her coughing finally subsided. “Dwarves?” She exclaimed hoarsely. 

Varric’s frown became genuine. 

“You have dwarves here?” She said in a calmer tone, seeming to get ahold of herself again. 

“Of course,” Varric replied, bewildered. “Rosie, I’m a dwarf.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re a dwarf?”

“Yes, I’m a dwarf. What did you think I was?”

Her face flushed, and she stuttered incoherently instead of answering. 

“Why the surprise?” Solas asked, saving her from her embarrassment. 

“The dwemer—dwarves—have long been lost from Tamriel. Most believe they died out in the first era.”

Varric guffawed. “The dwarves disappeared in your world so you’ve been wandering around Thedas thinking they didn’t exist here?” Solas chuckled with him as Halldόra’s face turned even redder. 

Varric wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “Ah, Rose. Seriously though, what did you think I was, if not a dwarf?”

“Short,” was the mumbled response. 

There was an uproar. Solas was hiding his mouth in his hand, which did nothing to conceal the laughter in his eyes. Cassandra cackled gleefully, clutching at her sides as she bent double over her horse’s back. The creature, alarmed at her strange behavior, came to a stop in the middle of the road. Even Dόra chortled after her initial mortification wore off. 

Varric spluttered, indignant, and finally pulled his horse ahead of the rest of the party in a huff, Cassandra’s giggles chasing him into the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dora. Seriously though, every time I typed out "the short man" instead of "the dwarf" I cringed inwardly. Thanks for reading!


	8. Orlais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There Are Some Weird Steeds and We Go to a Shining City

Varric quickly got over his outrage and returned to tell the rest of the tale. The leagues passed quickly as he spoke, and soon we were approaching the walls of Haven once more. 

Dennet and Harding had obviously arrived quite recently, and the stables were abuzz with activity. Temporary paddocks were being constructed nearby to accommodate the large number of horses, but a few stable hands emerged from the chaos quickly to see to our mounts. 

I descended from my horse with a sigh. It would be nice to be in a town again. Sleeping in a bed, even though I slept little; eating meals that weren’t chosen solely because they were convenient to cook over an open fire; a chance for a hot bath. What could be better?

Cullen joined us as we passed by the training yard outside the gates. Cassandra immediately began quizzing him on the Inquisition’s progress in our absence, but I hardly paid attention. There seemed to be some sort of confrontation happening hear the Chantry. I couldn’t see anything yet, but the unmistakable sound of an argument—involving many people—reached my ears. 

Varric splintered off from our group as we passed his campsite, and I picked up the pace a bit. The shouts were getting louder, and Cassandra and Cullen had fallen silent as they heard the commotion. 

A large group had gathered just outside the Chantry doors. Half wore the robes of the mages, and half were armored and bearing the Templar insignia. A small gathering of civilians and clerics had gathered around, whispering to one another. 

“Your kind killed the Divine!” Shouted a Templar, brandishing his finger in the face of the mage nearest him. 

“Your kind let her die,” the mage countered, swinging his staff around in front of him. The Templar sneered and reached for his sword. I debated whether or not to Shout at them—Unrelenting Force was always particularly efficient at ending such altercations, but explaining the Thu’um was not a discussion I really wanted to instigate. Thankfully my intervention proved unnecessary. 

“Enough!” Bellowed Cullen, barging into the fray. 

The Templar paled slightly, hand jumping away from his blade. “Knight-Captain?”

“That is not my title,” Cullen snarled at him. “We are not Templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition.” He included the mages in his glare as he scowled around at the crowd. I had to admit, he was intimidating—and it was effective. The gathered crowd drew back, eyes lowering to the ground as one in their shame. 

“And what does that mean, exactly,” drawled an oily voice as its owner stepped from the Chantry. Chancellor Roderick. The man was determined to be a thorn in the Inquisition’s side. “I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its so-called Herald will restore order—and the people are curious, as well.”

Cullen scoffed. “Back to your duties, all of you,” he ordered the crowd, who scuttled to obey. Roderick sneered as they departed, leaving him standing alone before the Commander. 

Cassandra and I strode forward, and I snagged Cullen’s arm to haul him through the door with me. 

“Don’t worry yourself over him,” I recommended as the three of us walked to the War Room. “He’s a bootlicker, nothing more. He holds no real power.”

“I’m aware, but I’m surprised you’re so cavalier about it,” the Commander replied. “Though he’s a prime example of what to expect in Val Royeaux, so that attitude will be to your benefit.”

I snorted. “I’ve dealt with such pests before.” _Nazeem rather comes to mind._

Leliana and Josephine were waiting for us in the War Room. 

“We have made all the necessary preparations for your journey to Val Royeaux,” Josephine said without preamble. “Mother Giselle provided a list of clerics who may prove amenable to our cause, as well as those who will likely prove adamant adversaries. We have contacted the former and informed them of your visit.”

“Any idea of what we can expect?” I asked. 

“Suspicion,” Leliana answered bluntly. “Even those who might be sympathetic will be waiting to see which way the wind blows. Fortunately, we don’t need you to convince them all wholeheartedly of your innocence. We just need to sow the seeds of doubt, to keep them off balance.”

I nodded. “Anything else of note happen while we were gone?”

“Two more…er…steeds were sent to you as gifts, Your Worship,” Josephine hedged. Cullen let out a snort that he attempted to hide behind a cough, but just shook his head at my raised eyebrow. I let it pass. 

“What needs to be done before we leave for Val Royeaux?” 

“Very little, truly. Only a fitting of the clothes we had made for your voyage. I will send the seamstress to your residence when we finish here.”

“What’s wrong with what I’ve been wearing?” 

“It’s menacing,” Cassandra told me. She looked amused. “You look like you’ll start slitting throats at a moment’s notice.”

“That’s because I _will_ ,” I muttered, drawing another muffled snort from Cullen.

“Perhaps so,” Josephine said primly, pursing her lips at me, “but that is not the message we wish to convey. Trust me on this.”

“Alright,” I conceded. “As long as I don’t have to wear one of those ridiculous hats.”

*

The clothes weren’t nearly as bad as I’d expected. In fact, they were a fair sight better than the frumpy furs and garish robes that dominated the Blue Palace. The fitting went quickly, and in no time at all I was making the rounds through Haven. 

Cullen and Cassandra stood near the gate, watching the recruits flow through forms. Varric lounged against the palisade nearby. I paused beside them.

“Have you seen your new…steeds, yet?” Cullen asked me with a barely discernible pause.

At my negative shrug, he smirked. “Well, come on then.”

The three of us trailed behind as he stomped toward the stables, intrigued by his attitude.

The earlier hubbub at the stables had slowed down since our arrival. Master Dennet’s horses were corralled in temporary paddocks, the stable master and his hands nowhere in sight. The horses my party had ridden back from the Hinterlands were penned to the side of the smithy, munching sedately on a mound of hay. I idly rubbed the nose of my Forder as the Commander led us past. 

“This is the charger that was sent shortly after your departure,” the blond man said, waving at the first stall. “Josephine suggests you ride it to Orlais. Be aware that it takes a beastly amount of time to remove all of the armor, though.”

I peered in at the creature. It was a handsome horse, dark chestnut in color, with fierce black eyes. The enormous pile of plate and decorative cloth piled next to the stall gave me pause. I’d heard of armored horses before, of course, but hadn’t ever felt the need to invest in such a thing for my own steeds.

“The hart was a gift from a Dalish clan,” Cullen continued as he reached the next stall. “Josephine and Leliana were both astounded that the Dalish chose to honor the Inquisition with such a gift. I don’t think I’d be at all comfortable riding it, to be honest, but it certainly seems to be a friendly beast.”

As if to punctuate his words, the hart leaned out of the stall as I approached. It was deer-like in shape, with massive antlers to rival any elk in Skyrim. A band of thick fur ran down its snout, and the hart snorted contentedly as I stroked it. 

“We don’t expect the Herald to ride each of these beasts at the same time, do we?” Varric joked, grinning as Cassandra came up beside me to pet the hart’s soft fleece. He shambled past Cullen to peer in the third stall. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he exclaimed. 

Cullen chortled. “That was a gift from the Mage’s Collective. On principle, I don’t really approve, but the Inquisition is not in a position to turn down gifts from prospective allies. They called it a bog unicorn.”

“Ugh!” Cassandra exclaimed, recoiling from the creature in the stall. I sidled past her to see for myself. 

“Are you sure it was meant as a gift, Curly?” Varric was asking. “Seems more likely to be an insult to me.”

The bog unicorn was certainly unsettling. Its flesh was shrunken, clinging to its skeleton. A rusty iron sword stabbed upward through the thing’s jaw, protruding out above its head like some horrible horn—probably why they called it a unicorn, I realized. 

“It’s disgusting,” Cassandra announced in her velvet accent. 

“Oh, it’s not that bad, and it’s hardly the first undead horse I’ve ever had,” I replied tartly, reaching out to pat the thing’s snout in an act of defiance. It tossed its red mane in agreement. “Though…it is the first one with a sword stuck through its face.”

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” Varric pleaded. “Please, Rose.”

“His name was Arvak,” I told the dwarf smugly. “He’d gotten trapped in the Soul Cairn, but I could summon him to Tamriel at will.” I paused, thinking. “Actually, I wonder if I could summon him here?”

“Soul Cairn?” I heard Cullen stammer, looking confused. Cassandra and Varric stared at me. 

“So: dragons, a vampire lord, werewolves, and undead horses. Rose, I’m running out of words to describe how weird your life is.”

*

We left early the next morning. It was a hard day’s ride to Val Royeaux, but not so long that we were willing to break the trip up into two segments. I set a brisk pace, clad in the brown and beige leathers that I had been provided, seated upon the armored charger. The overlapping plates clacked together as we rode along, and every so often sunshine would filter through the trees and reflect off the metal, blinding me. 

“Stupid thing, to put armor on a horse,” I groused after the fourth such occurrence. 

“You wear armor,” Solas pointed out, riding behind me. “Why begrudge your horse extra protection in battle?”

“What’s the point in protecting my horse if it means I can’t see what I’m doing?”

It was an uneventful journey, for the most part. Cassandra pointed out the markers along the road that indicated we’d passed into Orlais. My companions all contributed when I asked questions about the geography of the area, the politics, the history. We’d traveled together enough now to have settled into a routine of amity. 

We arrived in Val Royeaux as the sun reached the horizon. The light cast long shadows but I was still blinded by the glare reflected from the myriad golden statues. The opulence of the Orlesian capital put any major city in Skyrim to shame. 

“My Lady Herald,” called out a woman in the nondescript clothes of one of Leliana’s scouts. She knelt respectfully as I approached her. “The Chantry Mothers await you, but…so do a great many Templars,” she reported. 

“There are Templars here?” Cassandra asked in surprise. 

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them,” the scout replied. 

“From what?” I queried. 

“From the Inquisition. They’ve gathered on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

“Well, I’d so hate to disappoint them,” I quipped. “Thank you for the report. Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform the others if we are delayed.”

The Val Royeaux market was impressive. The buildings sported bright paint, and potted plants and neatly trimmed hedges lined the walkways. Colorful buntings flapped overhead. Golden lions circled some sort of monument in the center of the square. 

The people were just as colorful, their outfits creating a riot of vibrant silks. Thickly accented voices sang out as shopkeepers haggled with customers. Cassandra had described the Orlesian custom to wear elaborate masks when in public, and burnished silver or gold faces imitated the shining gold accents of the city itself. 

As the soldier had reported, a large gathering was forming on one side of the market. A wooden stage had been set up, and the clerics we had come to see were clustered atop it. 

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” Cried the centermost Mother as we approached. “Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!” Her gaze turned directly to me, and the crowd surrounding us gasped, silks rustling as they moved away from me en masse. 

“Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our Beloved fell,” she continued. “We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no foreigner in our hour of need!”

The murmurs amongst the crowd grew. Cassandra, standing beside me, tensed, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword as her eyes scanned the angry civilians. 

“We came here in peace, simply to talk,” I said. I spoke forcefully, but didn’t raise my voice, forcing the crowd to quiet down to hear my words. “The Breach is the real threat. Let us sit down together to deal with it, before it is too late.”

“It is already too late,” the Mother spat venomously. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more!”

The jangling of armor accompanied her words, and a squadron of Templars marched onto the dais. The murmurs from the crowd grew hopeful, and a few ragged cheers went up.

They were silenced abruptly when one of the armored men slammed his fist into the cleric’s head, dropping her like a stone. The crowd drew a collective breath, and held it. 

The leader of the group stopped where the Chantry Mother had fallen, and turned his gaze directly to my party. 

“An interesting tactic,” I remarked. “What exactly do you mean by it?”

“Her claim to authority is an insult, much like your own,” he answered scathingly. 

“Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with—” Cassandra began, but he cut her off. 

“You will not address me.”

“Lord Seeker?” She sounded genuinely baffled. 

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet.” He spat at Cassandra’s feet. “You should be ashamed.”

“But…Lord Seeker,” one of the Templars asked hesitantly, “what if she really was sent by the Maker?”

“ _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void,” the Lord Seeker declared proudly. “ _We_ deserve recognition! Independence! This Inquisition is less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” 

The gathered crowd watched in shocked silence as the Templars filed out of the market, back toward the city gates. I glanced at my companions. Cassandra’s eyes were wide, her brow furrowed. 

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric asked when I met his gaze. 

“Power-mad, that one,” I replied, looking back to see the last of the group disappear behind one of the carefully trimmed hedges. “Cassandra, how well do you know him?”

“Lord Seeker Lucius took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago,” she replied, still staring at the place where the Templars had disappeared. “He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre.”

“Hmm. From what we just saw, I wouldn’t say he’s a reasonable man.”

Cassandra sighed. “I do not know. But there are surely others in the Order who do not feel as he does. I think—”

Whatever Cassandra thought was cut off by the buzz of an arrow. I ducked automatically. The projectile bit into the paving stones just feet in front of me. A tightly curled parchment was wrapped around it, secured with bright red string.

Varric cursed, while I quickly scanned the roofline in the direction the arrow had come. I thought perhaps I saw a flicker of movement, but it was gone too soon for me to be sure. Solas crouched down and carefully withdrew the parchment from the arrow. 

“It appears to be a message,” he noted, handing it to me. 

__

> _People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone._
> 
> _There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and ‘round the café, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords._
> 
> _Friends of Red Jenny_

“This day just keeps getting stranger,” I said as I handed the note to Cassandra.

*

We all agreed that it would be wise to at least find the ‘red things’ the note mentioned, and so we split up into pairs to embark on an impromptu scavenger hunt. While Varric and I were exploring the cafe, a mage messenger cautiously approached to deliver an invitation to the salon of First Enchanter Vivienne de Fer. The date was for the following afternoon.

I showed the invitation to Cassandra and Solas, once they’d rejoined us. The ‘red thing’ on the docks had included a key, while ours had included a note with a location. 

“First Enchanter Vivienne is also the Enchanter to the Imperial Court,” Cassandra said as we roamed the upper level of the market, keeping our eyes peeled for red. “We would do well to try to gain her favor.” 

“There it is,” Varric said, pointing at the last red handkerchief. “So we’re staying for this salon, then? Should we send a message to Nightingale?”

I unwrapped the last missive from the kerchief as Cassandra replied. It was a note, mentioning a meeting at the third bell. I raised my eyes to the sky. The daylight had almost entirely faded away, leaving the sky streaked with deep blue. The breach wasn’t visible from here. The citizens of Val Royeaux probably had no trouble pretending that nothing was wrong. 

“We’ll need to find lodgings for the night,” I told my companions, tucking the tiny note into my pouch. “We have a party to crash at the third bell.”


	9. Night-Time Wanderings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Halldόra Does Not Sleep At Night

The ambush that the Red Jenny notes led us to was interesting, to say the least. As far as fights went, it was disappointing. The ‘mastermind’ behind it all—and I use that term loosely—was some poncy minor noble, who was greatly aggrieved that our discovery of his plot had been a happy accident. He was in the middle of a speech aggrandizing his own importance when an elf stepped from the shadows, cutting him off with a well-aimed shot. 

“Blah blah blah, obey me! Arrow in my face!” Parroted the newcomer, yanking her arrow from the man’s eye socket.

“So, you followed the notes well enough,” the elf said, turning to face us. “You are the Herald thingy, right? You glow?” Varric snorted, somewhere behind me, and I couldn’t quite keep the corners of my mouth from turning upward. 

“You could say that,” I replied. “But who you are?”

“Name’s Sera,” she laughed, gesturing at herself. Then she gestured at a stack of crates nearby. “This is cover. Get ‘round it.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. 

“For the reinforcements,” she hissed, waving me forward. “Don’t worry, though. A Friend tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.”

I was still puzzling over this statement when the first of the reinforcements arrived. Swordsmen charged into the street, and sure enough, they wore no breeches. 

“Why didn’t you take their weapons?” Cassandra yelled in aggravation, fending off one of the enemies. 

“Because no breeches,” Sera laughed, hand a rapid blur as she fired arrow after arrow. She was really quite good, despite her odd sense of humor. More trouser-less men poured into the street. I laughed in spite of myself. 

“So, Herald of Andraste,” she said, once the battle was over and she’d finally stopped giggling over the breeches situation, “you’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

I refrained from commenting on the irony of being called strange by someone who had stolen her enemy’s pants instead of their weapons or armor. “How about a better introduction first,” I said instead. 

Sera made an impatient noise. “It’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well, I’m one.”

“And who exactly are these Friends of Red Jenny?”

“It’s just a name, yeah?” She answered. “It lets little people, ‘Friends,’ be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate.”

“So if you join the Inquisition, you’ll use your connections with these ‘Friends’ to help us…how? As spies? Soldiers?”

“Here’s how it is,” she said. “You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. But you’re not untouchable. Someone little always hates someone big. And unless you don’t eat, sleep, or piss, you’re never far from someone little.”

“This is nonsense,” Cassandra muttered under her breath. 

“So your Friends of Red Jenny have connections amongst the servants and common folk, who know secrets that can be used against the nobles they interact with,” I summarized. “Alright, Sera. The Inquisition can use you and your ‘Friends.’”

“Yes!” The elf exclaimed. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Anyway, Haven. See you there, Herald!”

“You’re welcome to travel with us,” I started, but she’d already disappeared into the shadows. 

“Herald, this…organization of hers sounds petty and criminal,” Cassandra declared once she was sure the elf was gone. I laughed. 

“I’m not exactly the epitome of lawfulness,” I told the Seeker. “Besides, she may be a prankster, but her connections will come in handy. I’m sure Leliana’s people could ferret out most of the secrets we might need, but these Friends of Red Jenny can do it far more efficiently. They already have their network in place.”

“She’s an odd duck,” Varric agreed, “but I think Rosie’s right.”

Cassandra cast an appealing glance toward Solas, but he ignored her unspoken plea for backup. Outnumbered, the Seeker shook her head and grunted in defeat. 

*

We left Val Royeaux the next day. I had made a token appearance at Madame Vivienne’s salon, and apparently impressed her with my restraint in not killing the puffed up young man who foolishly challenged me to a duel. She agreed to support the Inquisition, and was settling her affairs before meeting us in Haven. 

Cassandra was thrilled that I had made a good impression on the First Enchanter, and strode smugly beside me as we approached the gates out of the city. 

“If I might have a moment of your time?” A low voice stopped us. 

A regal elf watched us, her eyes wise and fearless. She was dressed in mage robes, but carried no staff. She held herself with the calm assurance of someone who is accustomed to being respected. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra said, startled. 

“Leader of the mage rebellion,” Solas added, stepping forward. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

Her pale green eyes sought mine. “I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among the mages.”

“Are you offering your assistance?” I asked. 

“We are willing to discuss it, at least,” she said, lips twisting in a wry smile. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both.”

I nodded respectfully. “We will consider your invitation, Grand Enchanter.”

“That is all I can ask,” she replied. “Au revoir, my Lady Herald.”

The mage turned away, and Cassandra watched her carefully as she paced out of sight. 

“We should return to Haven,” the Seeker said at last, eyes filled with suspicion. 

We rode hard for the remainder of the afternoon, finally stopping an hour or so before sunset to set up camp. We were all tired, and didn’t linger long before seeking our bedrolls. I snatched a bit of sleep before waking sometime during Varric’s watch. The dwarf sat on the outskirts of our camp, back to the fire. I heard the soft scrape of a quill on parchment. 

The blood hunger was growing inside me. I hadn’t fed since we’d left Haven. I’d hoped to have an opportunity at the inn in Val Royeaux, but the Red Jenny tip had made that too risky, and I tried to avoid feeding on my friends as a matter of principle. 

I cautiously drew my legs out of the bedroll, as silently as I could. I regularly set up my blankets on the edge of our circle, in part because I was better equipped to withstand a surprise attack than my companions, and in part to make these occasional nocturnal escapades easier. As soon as I was free, I rolled silently away from the remnants of our fire, fading into the shadows. I watched for a few moments to see if Varric or my sleeping comrades stirred, and when they didn’t, I slipped into the night. 

Once I was a safe distance away, I swiftly climbed one of the tallest of the surrounding trees. I couldn’t detect any traces of other fires to suggest the presence of any camps beside ours. Drawing a deep breath, I released my Thu’um in a whisper. 

**Laas. Yah. Nir.**

The magic of aura whisper rippled out from my position, illuminating my companions in a haze of light visible only to my eyes. And there—in the distance, the sleeping form of a lone human. I quietly slipped from my perch, relying on my heightened vampiric senses to guide me. 

It was a lone courier, wrapped tightly in a blanket, without even a trace of a fire to give away their position. I doubted I would have noticed them if I hadn’t known to look. On second glance, they wore the cowled clothes that seemed common to one of Leliana’s agents. 

I quickly fed, teeth piercing the agent’s tender flesh. The barest tendril of healing magic served to heal the punctures, and I slipped away in silence, back to my own camp. 

Varric was shaking Solas awake when I got there. I hoped he hadn’t been aware of my absence for very long, and deliberately stepped on a twig as I approached. He swiveled to look at me, one hand twitching toward Bianca. I raised one hand in greeting, and he relaxed. Solas eyed me warily as he sat up, but said nothing, and I returned to my bedroll. 

Varric settled into his own blankets, and was soon snoring softly, but I could still feel Solas’ eyes on me, speculating. He was fairly quiet during our travels, but I knew the elf saw more than he let on. That was our common ground, after all: we shared the furtive perception of people with many secrets. 

I made a point of tossing and turning for the next hour. With luck, he would attribute my earlier absence as the result of a restless night, and not question it. Finally, halfway through the elf’s watch, I sat up, grabbing The Book of the Dragonborn from the side of my pack on a whim. 

“You might as well get some more sleep,” I told Solas as I settled down next to him. “I can take over for the rest of the night.”

“It is early for you to take over the watch, yet,” he said.

“Yes, but I can’t sleep anyway. No reason for both of us to be awake.” I traced my fingers over the embossed cover of the book. 

“What is that?” He asked, nodding at the tome in my hands. 

“A synopsis of the legend of the Dragonborn,” I replied, slipping the dried flowers and hawk’s feather free from the cover before handing him the book. 

He curiously cracked open the spine, fingers skimming over the pages. “You’ve mentioned this Dragonborn before.”

“It’s a big part of Skyrim’s history and lore,” I said. “And the Last Dragonborn defeated Alduin and saved the world from destruction not even two years ago.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “This book has significance to you?”

“It was a gift,” I replied simply. 

_“You are a disgrace to the Blades,” Delphine spat contemptuously. “Paarthurnax is a war criminal and a double-crosser. You cannot trust him, and he must pay for what he’s done.”_

_Her harsh words echoed through the vast sanctum of Sky Haven Temple, throwing them back at me mockingly. Esbern sat slumped before Alduin’s Wall, refusing to look at me._

_“If you will not kill the dragon, then you are dead to me,” Delphine continued. Her face was contorted with rage, and I knew there would be no compromise. I bowed my head in defeat and turned to leave._

_“Wait, child,” Esbern spoke finally, pushing away from the table. “Take this.” He thrust a tome into my hands, still not meeting my eyes. “Perhaps it will serve as a reminder, until you come back to us.”_

_I smiled at him, but knew I wouldn’t be coming back. No history or prophecy, no reminder of the Blades’ purpose, would change my conscience, and my conscience told me that Paarthurnax was no longer Alduin’s lieutenant. The dragon gave me hope that even a criminal such as I could become a beacon for good. I would not destroy that._

Solas was watching me inquisitively, and I realized I’d drifted off into my own thoughts. 

“Sorry,” I reassured him, “just homesick I guess.” My fingers stroked the soft edges of the feather in my hand as I spoke. 

Ever perceptive, he focused on the movement. “More gifts?” He asked. 

“Yes. From my daughters. The flowers are from Sophie, and the feather from Runa.” I found I didn’t want to talk about my children, though. “But, tell me about yourself, Solas,” I tried to divert the subject. 

“Why?” He asked, tensing. 

I hadn’t expected that answer. “Is there a reason why not?” I asked gingerly. 

“Privacy? Caution? Concern about the direction of this Inquisition once our work is done?”

I regarded him thoughtfully. “I wasn’t asking as part of the Inquisition, Solas. But you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, you are correct,” he apologized. “There’s so much fear in the atmosphere that I’ve become mistrustful. What would you know of me?”

“Where are you from?” I asked, realizing too late that the answer would probably mean nothing to me. 

He seemed to understand my dilemma. “A small village, far to the north. It held little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But when I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined.”

“Is that how you began studying Fade magic?”

“Yes. Eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade. After all, the Fade reflects the waking world. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. So I left my village, to live and experience new things.”

The conversation turned to comparisons of our adventures, ruins that we’d explored, creatures we’d encountered. After a time, Solas excused himself to his bedroll, and I sat alone for the remainder of the night, the stars my only company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun, Solas is getting suspicious! In other news, I've only got a partial chapter written after this one, and I haven't had much time or motivation to write lately, so the story may stall for a bit. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and thanks for reading~


	10. New Leads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There Are Heated Political Discussions  
> Or, Flashbacks to When the Dragonborn Argued With Ulfric About Racism

Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were waiting for us when we arrived. 

“My scouts in the city sent thorough reports of what happened,” the Spymaster announced without preamble. 

“It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital,” Cullen said. 

“Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember,” Cassandra mused. 

“Indeed. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been very odd,” Leliana added. 

“We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker,” Cullen declared. 

“Or,” Josephine interjected, “the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

“Does meeting one necessarily turn the other against us?” I asked quickly, trying to head off an argument. Cassandra’s eyes had widened in affront when Josephine had put forth her suggestion.

“Well, yes,” Cullen said, in a tone that suggested he was stating the obvious. “They are at war with one another, after all.”

“Well, Grand Enchanter Fiona gave us an open invitation to Redcliffe, to negotiate with the mages,” I said. “Since they approached us, and the Templars very publicly declared that they wanted nothing to do with the Inquisition, logic would suggest we go to the mages.”

“The Templars are obviously in a state of disarray right now,” Josephine added.

“You think the mages will be any better? They could be much worse,” Cullen scoffed. 

“Perhaps, but they are at least willing to talk. I say we approach them,” I told him. 

“The mages are too dangerous!” He exclaimed. “They’ve always been under the authority of the Templars! They don’t know how to rule themselves!”

“Perhaps so, Cullen, but they have never been given the opportunity to learn,” I reasoned.

“Do not presume you know more of the mages than I do. I lived among them for years. They will give in to the temptation of blood magic the minute something goes wrong.”

I shot him a glare. “Is that the Commander of the Inquisition speaking, or the Templar?”

He set his jaw stubbornly. “We’re at war. There’s a breach in the Veil, demons overrunning Thedas, and some unknown enemy has murdered the Divine. This is not the time to take needless risks.”

_“Do not presume to tell me how to rule,” Ulfric had snarled when I brought up the discontent of the Argonians and Dark Elves in Windhelm. “We are at war, fighting for Skyrim against outsiders who would outlaw our traditions. We cannot afford to pander to non-Nords who may turn against us.”_

“And the Conclave was called in order to end the war between mages and Templars, yes?” I asked, trying to remain patient. Remembering my arguments with Ulfric was not improving my temper. 

“Yes, and we all know how that ended,” Cassandra said bitterly. 

_“My Lord,” I’d protested, “By mistreating the non-Nords within our borders, do we not alienate them to do that very thing? If they’re given reason to believe that the Empire is the better option, they_ will _side against us. Isn’t it better that we take the chance on them first?”_

_“An unnecessary chance,” he scoffed._

_My temper was growing short. “Only a fool fights a war on two fronts, Lord Ulfric.”_

_His face had turned red at my blunt tone. “You walk on dangerous ground, Dragonborn. Be careful what you say, lest some think you guilty of conspiring with traitors.”_

_“You are a traitor to the Empire,” I spat acidly. “This rebellion you command? Treason. I joined you because I believed you wanted the best for Skyrim and her people. Now I wonder if you’re only doing this for power.”_

I wrenched my attention back to the present, leveling a glare at both Cullen and Cassandra. “Let me tell you what I told Ulfric.” I said sternly. “Yes, you’re at war. Yes, you can expect the other side to try sabatoge and spying and subversion and whatever. Yes, war breeds fear and hard feelings. But remember who exactly you are at war with: **hate the people who are oppressing you.** Don’t hate everyone else simply because they don’t have the same stake in this that you do. You take out your frustrations on them, and you’re no different from your enemy.” 

They seemed shocked at my harsh tone, and before anyone could respond, I whirled around and stormed out of the Chantry.

*

I went to the tavern after my heated conversation with the advisors. Some ale would go a long way toward cooling my temper. 

Our newest recruit, Sera was there. I hadn’t realized she was already in Haven. 

“You wasted no time getting here,” I greeted her as I made my way to the bar. Flissa nodded at me in acknowledgment. 

“Yeah, well, not like I had more important things than tryin’ to fix the sky,” she answered. 

“Are you settling in to Haven?”

“Oh, it’s fine, yeah? Just, I thought it’d be bigger. Ahahah. That would have been hilarious if you were a man, right? Opportunity wasted.”

I snorted, taking a gulp of my drink. “Well, Sera, size isn’t everything.” I winked, and she cackled. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her voice was a purr. “Interested, are you?” 

I chuckled. “I might be. Where are you from?”

“Fereldan.”

“Don’t know much about it, to be honest,” I said, draining the rest of my ale and signaling Flissa for another. 

“Not much to know,” Sera scoffed. “I heard you’re from some other place…Sky-thingy?”

“Skyrim,” I laughed. “Yes, it’s evidently quite far away.”

“Look, it’s not where someone’s from that’s important, izit? It’s how they treat people.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I said, raising my tankard. Sera laughed and raised her own.

“To the little people,” she smiled. 

“Cheers.” 

*

I was still sitting in the tavern come evening. Sera had long since wandered off in search of other amusements, and I was scraping the last broth from the bottom of my bowl of stew when a stranger walked in, looking around. He was young, with fine features and carefully styled hair, but wore heavy armor and moved with the agile grace of a competent fighter.

He spotted me at my table in the corner, and quickly strode over.

“You’re the Herald of Andraste? I’ve a message for you when you’ve got the time.”

I gestured to the seat across from me. “Well, I seem to have the time now. Who might you be?”

He sat. “The name’s Cremisius Aclassi, Krem for short. I’m a member of a mercenary company, the Bull’s Chargers. We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering on the Storm Coast. Our commander, Iron Bull, offers the information to the Inquisition free of charge.”

“I see. A kind gesture. Why is your commander offering this information?”

Flissa scurried over with a full tankard for the newcomer, and a refill for me. I nodded my thanks, and she hurried away again, seeing to the needs of other customers.

Krem raised his tankard to his lips before answering. “He wants to work for the Inquisition. Thinks you’re doing good work. Usually we just work for whoever makes the first serious offer, but you’ve impressed him enough that he’s gone out of his way to pick a side.”

“And what can the Bull’s Chargers offer the Inquisition?”

“We’re the best. We’re loyal, tough, and see our contracts through to the end. We’ve got references, if you want them. And if you’d like to see us in action, come to the Storm Coast. We’ll take out those Tevinter mercs for you.”

“Well Krem, the Inquisition can surely use a band of competent mercenaries in our ranks.”

Just then, Leliana appeared at my elbow. “Herald, if I might have a word?”

“Of course, Leliana,” I said, putting my tankard down on the table. “I trust you’re aware of Krem and why he’s here?”

She’s nodded at the young man. “Yes, he spoke to one of my agents and we agreed he could meet with you. Will you be heading to the storm coast soon?”

“I’d say in the next day or two,” I replied. “No point wasting time.”

“I’d best get some rest before I head back there and inform the Iron Bull that you’ll be coming,” Krem said, draining his tankard and standing. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Herald. Spymaster.”

We watched as he strode out of the tavern. 

“Very polite for a mercenary,” I mused. 

“I looked into his company. They have an excellent reputation,” Leliana told me. “The commander seems to be especially competent.”

“Then I assume these Bull’s Chargers would be an asset to the Inquisition?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d like you to take Cassandra when you go to the Storm Coast. She will make the final call, but you are authorized to hire the Chargers once you’ve seen them in action.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward as she fell silent. “You wanted to speak with me? Is it about our…discussion…earlier? I owe you and the other advisors an apology.”

She laughed, a musical sound. “I would not say you were out of line, but Cullen in particular is feeling very out of sorts about your outburst. I’ve not seen him so chastened in quite some time. But no, that is not why I wished to speak with you.”

I waited, looking at her curiously.

“There’s…another matter that I would like you to investigate,” she began. “The Gray Wardens of Ferelden have vanished. I sent word to the Wardens in Orlais, but they have vanished also. Normally I wouldn’t even consider the idea that they were involved in this, but the timing…well, it’s suspicious.”

I considered this revelation. “I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have a thorough grasp of inter-faction politics here in Thedas, but I confess I don’t see what the Gray Wardens would have to gain by promoting chaos. What exactly do you expect I can find?”

“I’ve received word of a lone Warden, named Blackwall, in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe. If you can seek him out, perhaps he will know where the other Wardens have gone.”

“I’ll head to the Hinterlands after we see the Bull’s Chargers,” I promised. “But, Leliana, I must ask: what if he has no answers?”

“Then there may be more going on than we thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, cause I was struggling. Hoping to get back into a weekly posting schedule again though. As always, feedback is much appreciated, and many thanks for reading~


	11. New Recruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which We Meet The Iron Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, obviously I didn't manage to get back into a weekly posting schedule--sorry about that! I'm working on this fic for Camp NaNoWriMo though, so after July is over I should have a fair amount built up again. As always, thanks so much for reading, and any feedback is much appreciated~

_Why did no one warn me about the Qunari?_

That thought was at the forefront of my mind when I first laid eyes on the Iron Bull. He was enormous—at least a head taller than I, and the two long horns curling atop his head easily doubled that. His skin was an ashy gray, like a very light-skinned Dunmer, and he was vicious, attacking his opponents with a ferocity that put any Orc to shame. 

When the battle was over (after a surprisingly short time), he turned to me with a grin. 

“You must be the Herald of Andraste.” As one might expect based on his size, his voice boomed from deep within his chest. “I am the Iron Bull, leader of the Bull’s Chargers. These, of course, are the Chargers, and I think you remember my lieutenant, Krem.”

I nodded in greeting to the attractive man I’d met in Haven. “Of course,” I replied politely. “He was quite convincing in his arguments for me to come meet you.”

The Qunari laughed unabashedly. “Aye, that’s why I send Krem to make first contact. He’s got a silver tongue, he does.”

“And it’s bad for business when people faint dead away at the sight of your ugly face, isn’t it, Chief?” Krem joshed in reply. I smiled. I liked these two very much already.

“So, now you’ve seen the Chargers in action,” the Iron Bull said, getting back to business. “What do you think?”

“You have a formidable team here,” I told him honestly. 

“The Chargers are good at what they do,” he replied. “But you’re not just getting the Chargers, either. You’re getting me. Tell me, have you heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, they’re the Qun’s agents outside of Par Vollen. Or rather, _we’re_ the Qun’s agents. I’m one of them.”

“By agents, what do you mean?”

“Spies,” he said bluntly. “We gather intelligence, report on anything that may eventually become relevant. Just watching mostly, but occasionally carrying out clandestine missions.”

“I see.” I studied the large man. A patch hid one eye, but the other was bright, and met my gaze without hesitation. “I can certainly see why your organization would want to have eyes and ears inside the Inquisition, but isn’t it a bit counter-productive to tell me that you’re a spy?”

Another grin split his face. “I like you,” he chortled. “You’re blunt. To answer your question though, I’m sure your Spymaster would find out eventually anyway. Seems easier to be honest up front. And I can agree not to send any reports back home that your lovely redheaded bard hasn’t first vetted and approved. I can also share any reports I receive from other agents that may impact the Inquisition. So, what do you say?”

I glanced to the side at Cassandra, who had respectfully held back during my talks with the Iron Bull, but still remained within earshot. She nodded at me. A small smile graced Bull’s lips as he watched the exchange. 

I extended my hand to the big man. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Iron Bull.”

*

We stayed there for a few days, closing rifts, gathering resources, and just getting used to our new companions. The Bull’s Chargers mostly kept to themselves, except for Krem and the Bull himself. 

Sera played pranks on everyone. She seemed to hold some sort of respect for the Iron Bull, or perhaps she was afraid of him, but she left him out of the worst of it. Varric, she soon realized, could give as good as he got. Solas mostly kept his irritation to himself, which, strangely enough, resulted in fewer pranks being played on him. 

Cassandra, however, was not so lucky. Her disgust with the mischievous elf was obvious, and made her a frequent target. Between that and the rain, the Seeker was often surly, and snapped at anyone trying to make conversation. 

She wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with the weather: Varric complained multiple times a day, grumbling that he would never be dry again. 

“After we get rid of this bandit problem, can we _finally_ leave this soggy coast?” He asked exasperatedly one morning, after realizing that the seam of his tent had sprung a leak and dripped into his boot all night. 

“It’s just a little water,” the Iron Bull teased as he held a steaming mug of porridge. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s just lovely weather here all the time,” Varric grunted sarcastically. 

I chuckled, reminded of Serana. _“This must be that beautiful Skyrim weather I’ve heard about,” she would say dryly, pulling up her hood against the rain and snow. “I’ve had enough of caves, but they might be preferable to this.”_

“We’ll see if we can’t find our missing scouts, and then we can leave,” I told the dwarf. He sighed in relief. 

“Are we headed back to Haven?” Asked the Iron Bull.

“I think we should split our party up, actually,” I replied. “I have an errand to run near Redcliffe, but there’s no reason for everyone to accompany me. The Chargers can head back to Haven, perhaps with Sera and Cassandra. Varric and Solas and I can go to the Hinterlands to look for this Gray Warden.”

“Are you certain?” Cassandra asked me. She’d been one of my constant companions on each mission since the Inquisition had been formed.

“You can get the Chargers settled in and report on the situation on the Storm Coast to the rest of the Inquisition. If we find the Gray Warden, we’ll find out what he knows. If not, we’ll be in Haven shortly as well.”

She studied me for a long time. 

“Cassandra,” I reminded her gently, “I know you feel personally responsible for the Inquisition, but all we’re doing is looking for one man. You’d be of more use in Haven than traipsing the Hinterlands for a few days.”

“Alright,” she sighed. Then she paused. “Are you certain you can’t take Sera with you, though? To keep an eye on her?”

The elf’s laughter rang through the rainy sky.

*

“Are you positive you don’t want to try to recruit these bandits, instead of killing them all?” Varric hissed as we crept up on the group’s stronghold, weapons at the ready.

“Yep,” I whispered back. “In my experience, bandits are only worth the gold promised in their bounty. Plus, they killed the Inquisition scouts sent to negotiate with them.”

“Valid point,” Varric acknowledged. 

Conversation ceased as we moved closer. I thought it would be wise to scout ahead before just rushing in. 

“Stay here,” I hissed to my companions. “I’ll see if I can take out the guards by surprise.”

“Go get ‘em, Herald,” Sera hissed in response. 

I grinned at her briefly before I pulled myself over the edge of the ridge we were currently crouched behind. The Blades of Hessarian had a fortified camp set up atop the hill, complete with sturdy wooden barricades. Two armored guards stood at the gate, slouching idly. I crept silently into the cover of a large tree, drawing Auriel’s Bow from my back as I did so. 

Holding my breath and aiming carefully, I drew—released—both guards were down in an instant. I waved at my still-hidden companions and hurried forward to peer through the gate. 

Another arrow eliminated one of the bandits within, and then they were alerted to our presence. I put another arrow through the enemy archer’s shoulder, then drew my swords as the rest of the party joined me. Sera ducked out from cover, arrows whistling as she fired her bow in a blur of motion. I idly noticed that she might even be a better shot than me. A crossbow bolt drove through the skull of the bandit nearest me, and Cassandra and the Iron Bull both charged into the encampment. I followed behind, veering toward the leader of the band. 

He bellowed, making a show of aggressive power despite the fact that my friends were massacring his underlings. It was a short battle. He hadn’t even raised his sword before my blades scissored across his throat. 

“Perhaps you were on to something,” Varric commented, strolling up behind me. 

I glanced at him questioningly.

“This group was so easy to take down they probably wouldn’t have been much use to the Inquisition,” he explained. 

I chuckled. “I suppose they would have been more bodies to throw at the Breach, but they probably would have just gotten in my way.”

“So now that they’re taken care of, it’s off to the Hinterlands?”

“Yep,” I affirmed, as the others joined us. Cassandra was cleaning her sword, and the Iron Bull was examining some of the bandits’ armor. Sera plucked her arrows from the bodies, making grotesque noises as she did so. “We’ll split up from here. Cassandra will take the Chargers and Sera—don’t make that face at me, Cassandra—back to Haven, and the three of us will search for the Gray Warden.” I gestured to myself, Varric, and Solas as I said this. 

“If you don’t mind,” the Iron Bull rumbled, “I would like to accompany you to the Hinterlands. Krem can take charge of the Chargers on the trip to Haven, but I would like to get to know you better, Boss.”

“Fine with me,” I shrugged. “Cassandra?”

“I think I can handle the remainder of the Bull’s Chargers,” she responded drily. “Please don’t act rashly in the Hinterlands, Herald. Find out what the Warden knows, and then return immediately to Haven.”

I nodded my acceptance. 

*

The four of us set off shortly after returning to camp, leaving Cassandra to oversee the packing of the resources we’d gathered. Scout Harding had acquired a supply wagon somehow, and the Chargers were helping to load it with ore and herbs. 

Bull said a few parting words to his men, and we rode out. The Chargers did not have horses of their own, and none of our horses would have been large enough for the Qunari anyway, so I set an easy pace. 

We rode in relative silence for a time, Varric’s humming the only vocalization. Wonder of wonders, the incessant rain had stopped for a time, the gray clouds overhead lightening, though not lifting completely. 

The surrounding terrain was just beginning to dry out, signaling that we’d past the boundary of the constant rain, when the Iron Bull strode up beside me. 

“So, Boss,” he said, barely sparing me a glance, “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about where you’re from, but haven’t been able to confirm anything. What gives?”

I laughed. “I’m not surprised. I don’t think the Inquisition has really let it get out. It’s kind of hard to believe.”

He shot me a look. “So you really aren’t from anywhere in Thedas?”

“No. My home province is called Skyrim, in Tamriel. It’s not so different from here, really, but there are variations. I think I’ve mostly gotten used to the way things work in Thedas, though.” 

“So tell me about your homeland,” he said eagerly. Varric chuckled from where he rode behind us. 

“I, too, would like to hear more of your home,” Solas volunteered. “Especially this Dragonborn you’ve told me about.”

“Dragonborn?” Bull’s eyes grew wide at the title. 

Varric laughed. “If you want dragon-related stories, Tiny, you’ve come to the right place. Actually, if you want any weird story, Rose is your gal.”

“I knew it was a good idea to sign up with the Inquisition,” the Qunari crowed. 

So we swapped tales of our adventures. Bull explained the Qun to me, and told me of Qunari history, particularly their conflict with the Magisters of Tevinter. Varric regaled us with a few of his exploits with Hawke, and I described the legends of Skyrim, even singing the Song of the Dragonborn. 

Bull sighed lustily. “I wish I could absorb dragon souls,” he mused. 

“It is fascinating that the source of dragon magic is in their language,” Solas said thoughtfully. “I wish I could learn it. Do you know any of this language, Dόra?”

“Some,” I admitted. “But it takes anyone not of dragon blood years of meditation and study to be able to use the power of the Thu’um. Jarl Ulfric spent much of his early life studying with the Greybeards, and he only can use two Shouts.”

I could see Solas thinking this information over, and I hoped he wouldn’t ask me to share any of my knowledge in the hopes that he could figure it out himself. Luckily, Varric interjected. 

“You know Rose, that’s been bothering me. You keep saying ‘someone of dragon blood’. How does a human share any dragon blood? The logical process smacks of bestiality, wouldn’t you say?”

Bull burst out laughing, a full chortle that rang through the landscape, echoing back to us. He laughed until tears ran from his eyes. Varric grinned, and even Solas’ mouth curled up at the corners. Shaking my head, I led the way as we rode on.


	12. Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Halldόra Does Some Snooping

The next morning dawned clear and bright. We had made camp at the crossroads, arriving after full dark had fallen. A few inquiries had revealed rumors of a Gray Warden conscripting some of the locals by Lake Luthias, but there’d been no point in looking for our mysterious Warden by night. 

Varric stepped out of his tent, beaming up at the sky. “I do love sunshine,” he declared to the world at large. “If you can’t see the sun, it’s not a day to look forward to.”

Solas chuckled. He and Bull sat across the fire from me as I readied our breakfast. “An odd attitude for a dwarf,” the mage noted. 

“I’ve told you, Chuckles, I’m not your average dwarf,” Varric replied laughingly. “I absolutely _loathe_ the Deep Roads, and honestly I couldn’t care less if Orzammar got swallowed up by the earth.”

“Good thing most of our missions are out in the open,” I teased. 

The dwarf gave a relieved sigh. “Yep. Today’s should be easy. Find the Warden, get our questions answered, and back to Haven.”

I hummed in response. “Yes…about that. That’s your mission. I’ll be doing something a bit different.”

The three looked at me sharply. 

“Are you implying that you wish to go to Redcliffe?” Solas asked, ever astute. 

“I wasn’t just implying,” I said. “I want the three of you to find the Warden, see what he knows, and I’ll go snoop around Redcliffe a bit and see what I can learn about the situation there. We’ll meet back here, and then head back to Haven.”

“Cassandra won’t approve of that, Rose,” Varric said slowly. 

I shrugged. “The way the advisors have been arguing, the Breach will close itself before they come to a decision about which faction to approach for help. If I can learn anything that may help their decision, I’ll take Cassandra’s disapproval.”

They looked at me, and then at one another, faces skeptical. 

“It’s really not up for debate,” I said, amused. “I’m going. I’d just like you to stick to the original plan while I’m gone.”

“It is the wisest course of action to seek as much information as possible before making a decision,” Solas said finally. 

“It’s not wise to go in alone, though,” Bull rumbled. “I’ll go with you. Plus, I’m a spy. If you want to snoop, it makes sense to take me along.”

I looked him over critically. “No offense, Bull, but I was thinking more of a stealth mission.”

“Are you insinuating I can’t be stealthy?” He looked affronted. 

“Are there so many Qunari in Redcliffe that you won’t attract attention?”

“Hmm. Point taken. But I’ll still come with. I can sit in the tavern and see what I hear. You’d be surprised how much people talk to a newcomer who stands out as much as I do. You can lurk or whatever you plan on doing while I’m listening to the locals.”

“Fine,” I conceded. “While you do that, I’ll, uh, lurk.” I turned to Solas and Varric. “Can you two find this Blackwall, and get an answer for Leliana?”

“Sure thing, Rose,” Varric said easily. “Chuckles and I can handle it just fine.”

*

“Close the gates!” 

The shout rang out as the Iron Bull and I neared Redcliffe village, along with the tell-tale ring of steel. 

“Sounds like trouble,” Bull muttered beside me, readying his greataxe. An inhuman shriek followed his words, coming from up ahead. 

“Demons,” I breathed sourly. “Must be a Fade rift.”

It was, but it was different from any rift I’d encountered before. A few soldiers wearing the Redcliffe heraldry were fighting the demons that had spawned from the rift, but they moved…strangely. One seemed to be fighting in slow motion, while another flitted around like a hummingbird. 

As we approached, I learned why. Zones of magicka surrounded the rift, seeming to warp the flow of time. The Iron Bull and I immediately stumbled into one that sped us up. I glanced quickly at Bull. His eyes were wide, expression confused and alarmed, as the demon that had charged toward us seemed to slow to a crawl. I darted in front of my companion, slicing deftly at the creature. The edge of the sped up area shimmered faintly, and I was careful not to cross the boundary. 

“Was that normal behavior for a rift?” The Iron Bull asked after we’d dispatched the last of the demons and I’d use my mark on the portal into the Fade.

“No, it wasn’t. Clearly something else is going on here.”

He hummed thoughtfully, then gazed at me shrewdly. “You seemed awfully calm about it.”

“Ah…” I paused, thinking of the Slow Time shout. “Let’s just say I’ve had some experience with magic that distorts time.”

His eyes narrowed, but before he could question me, one of the soldiers strode up to us. 

“Thank goodness you showed up when you did,” she gasped breathlessly, staring at the two of us in awe. “I thought we were goners for sure. Can I announce you to anyone in Redcliffe?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” I said, trying to hide my alarm. _Announce us?_ “We’ll be fine.”

“Alright then,” she said amenably, then turned back to the opening gates. I stared after her. 

“So much for a secret mission,” Bull said, sounding rather amused. 

“What?”

“This was supposed to be a stealth mission, right? You weren’t going to announce your presence as the Herald of Andraste? But no one else can close the rifts, so now the entire town will know you’re here.”

I stared at him in dismay. I hadn’t even thought of that when I closed the rift. 

The Quanari chortled at my expression. “Don’t worry, Boss, I’ll handle it. Why don’t you go back to the others and I’ll settle in the tavern?”

I hesitated. My identity had been compromised, yes, but I was leery of letting Bull gather information on his own. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but I preferred to be involved myself.

“Go on ahead to the tavern,” I decided. “I’ll try to find a disguise of some sort and meet you there.”

He shot me a piercing glance, but shrugged. “Whatever you say, Boss.” Without a backward glance, he strode through the gate.

I backed down the road, weighing my options. 

_Too bad Galathil isn’t here_ , I thought wryly. I had used the talents of the face sculptor a few times over the past few years, especially before I’d gained notoriety as the Dragonborn, when I’d pursued some of the more lawless ways of life. My most dramatic facial change had been after assassinating Vittoria Vici at her wedding.

But alas, Galathil was back in Tamriel, and I was stuck in the strange world of Thedas. I’d have to rely on old fashioned sneaking to get me by here. I found a nice shadowy stand of trees to hide in while I waited for my opportunity.

It came along soon enough. Traffic out of the village had stalled due to the Fade rift, but with the rift closed, the road was once again becoming active. I let a small party with a wagon trundle by unmolested, but when a single traveler—a farmer, by the look of him—passed my hiding place, I quietly stepped out and paced behind him. 

A quick hard blow served to knock him unconscious when I was close enough. I deftly caught him up before he fell to the ground, and, glancing behind me to make sure no one had seen, dashed into the trees. 

_Good thing I picked one about my size_ , I thought as I stripped off the farmer’s outer clothes. Leaving him just out of sight of the road, I hauled my loot even deeper into the forest, until I found a good tree to climb. I’d leave my easily distinguished armor and pack hidden in the tall branches, and wear the farmer’s nondescript clothing and my cloak into town. 

Soon enough I was striding back toward the village, hood obscuring my face and light gloves covering the mark on my hand. If anyone looked closely they might wonder at the tattoos slashed across my face, but with luck I could avoid casual notice. 

A group of refugees and soldiers were kneeling just inside the gate, hands clasped in white-knuckled grips before them as they listened to a Chantry mother recite the Chant of Light. Other groups of scared-looking people clumped together in silence or spoke in hushed voices. I’d expected a greater sense of relief after having closed the rift outside the gate.

Most of the whispered conversations had to do with dreams, and the locals’ fear of manifesting magic. However, despite all the talk of magic, I saw very few mages out and about, which was surprising given my understanding that the village was where the rebel mages had sought refuge.

Eventually I came to a busier section of town. A small group of people was congregated in front of a statue. One appeared to be telling a story. I drifted closer to hear what they were saying.

“They say a desire demon possessed our young Lord Connor,” the woman was saying. “The Hero of Ferelden drove the demon out, saving him, before she embarked on her quest to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to save Arl Eamon.” She met my eyes as I hovered on the edge of the group, silently asking if I wished to join them. 

I shook my head slightly. An interesting story it may be, but ten year old tales didn’t help me with the here and now. 

The path diverged just beyond the statue. One branch led up to a busy square surrounded by buildings, the other down toward the lake. I hesitated. _Up is probably where the tavern is. Bull will have already cased that area._

Decision made, I headed toward the docks. The conversations were more furtive here, and I noticed many a fearful glance cast toward the looming specter of Redcliffe Castle. Finally, I spotted a young man in fine clothes, bearing a staff. He was deep in tense conversation with another man. 

“I can’t believe King Alistair thought Redcliffe was the right place to send the mages,” the young man bemoaned. “Did he really think they could just forget what I did to them? So many dead…”

“Connor, you were possessed,” his conversation partner interjected. “It wasn’t your fault.”

_Wait. Connor?_

I drifted closer, listening intently. The young man—Connor—was now lamenting the dissolution of the Circles. 

“I thought it was fine, when everyone wanted to just oversee themselves,” he moaned. “But the Magister—it’s not right, what they do in Tevinter.”

_Hold up_ , I thought. _What Magister?_

I was debating how to insert myself into their conversation when the other man spoke over Connor. 

“We’ve been over this, Connor,” he said tiredly. “Mages are not monsters. And the alliance with Tevinter is already a done deal. I’m not talking about this anymore.”

_Alright, I guess that’s my cue._

I approached the young man as the other one stalked off. “I didn’t mean to overhear,” I told him, trying to convey a friendly façade, “but what did your friend mean, about an alliance with Tevinter?”

He snorted. “‘Alliance?’ Hardly. That Magister threw my uncle out into the street! He’s signed us all into servitude! I don’t know what the Grand Enchanter was thinking, selling out to the Imperium.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona made a deal with the Imperium?” I repeated, dumbstruck. 

“You haven’t heard?” He sounded surprised. “A Magister, Alexius his name is, showed up after the Breach. He said he’d protect us if we became indentured servants to him, and eventually we’d become citizens of the Imperium. But then he kicked out my uncle and took over the castle. I don’t trust him at all.”

“I see,” I said, thinking quickly. This was a big problem. “Well, I’m afraid I must be going, but thank you for your time, Connor.”

He nodded dejectedly, turning away. I hurried back up the hill to the tavern.

Bull was ensconced in a large chair by the wall, laughing with a serving girl. I hunched my shoulders and hurried across the room toward him, slinking into the chair beside him. 

“Ah, you’re here,” he said by way of greeting. “Excellent.” He winked at the serving girl. “Business calls. A tankard for my friend here too, if you please.” She scurried off with one last giggle.

The smile dropped from his face as soon as she was gone. “Something’s not right here,” he said, leaning closer to me. “I’ve heard whispers of a ‘Vint, but no one wants to confirm anything.”

“I had better luck by the docks,” I replied. “Seems Fiona has sold the mages into servitude with a Magister.”

He cursed. “Stupid. This is why you can’t trust mages.”

“It’s definitely a problem,” I agreed. “I want you to go fetch the others and return to Haven as soon as possible. The advisors need to know about this immediately.”

“Seems they’d rather hear it from you than me,” he rumbled. 

“Perhaps, but I want to stay here and see if I can find out anything else. Maybe a loophole in this agreement so that we can disrupt it without starting an all-out war.”

Bull grunted. “Alright Boss. Just know I’ll make it very clear that you ordered me to cooperate, so that you get all the flack for this scheme.”

I grinned tightly at the big man. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	13. The Magister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There's a Sticky Situation

The Iron Bull departed, and I settled myself in his chair, bowing my head over my tankard. With my hood still up, the chances of anyone bothering me were slim, so I could listen in on the surrounding conversations in peace.

There were more mages in the tavern than I had seen elsewhere in the village, but still not nearly as many as I’d expected to find. 

_If this Magister has taken the castle for himself, he must be keeping the majority of the mages there. Obtaining the service of so many would be quite a coup for him, so he probably wants them under his thumb as much as possible._

Perhaps fifteen minutes after I’d sent the Iron Bull away, a commotion sounded at the door. The whispers in the room grew in volume and then abruptly subsided. Unfortunately, my back was mostly to the door, and with my hood up it was difficult to catch what was going on with a quick glance. I quickly drained my tankard and twisted around to look, under the pretense of catching the server’s eye. 

I looked directly into the face of the Grand Enchanter. 

Her eyes widened, and she quickly changed direction to approach me. I cursed inwardly. 

“So the rumors are true,” she said when she was standing beside my table. “The Herald of Andraste is here. But what brings you to Redcliffe?”

I looked at her, bewildered. “You mentioned in Val Royeaux that the mages would be willing to entertain negotiations with the Inquisition,” I replied in confusion. 

“I?” She asked in surprise. “I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave. Perhaps it was someone else?”

“No,” I said hesitantly. “I’m quite sure it was you. While the Templars were leaving, you approached me and asked me here.”

“The Templars left?” She exclaimed, sounding more distraught by the minute. “But that’s so strange. Where would they have gone?”

“You don’t remember any of this?” I asked. 

“No…I…” She put her hand up to her forehead, as though a headache was coming on. “This all sounds strange, but somehow familiar. I do not know. Regardless, the situation has changed. I do not have the authority to negotiate with you now. Magister Alexius will be along shortly. You can take it up with him.”

“Ah…” I began, but she was already walking away, hand still pressed in to her temple. 

_Crap. Cassandra will kill me if I meet with this Magister before I can inform the Inquisition of the situation. I need to get out of here._

I rose to my feet, but even as I did, an advance guard of soldiers entered the tavern. I eyed the windows, but they were too narrow to allow for an easy escape, and were all situated on the front of the building besides. Even if I could make it through one I’d likely fall right into the Magister’s lap. 

_Too bad I’ve fed recently. The vampire’s Embrace of Shadows would be very helpful right about now._

My options limited, I dodged toward the door into the rear of the tavern. With luck I’d be able to hide somewhere in the building until I could find a way to sneak out. 

Luck was not with me. 

A man dressed in a bizarre hooded robe entered the tavern and spotted me. His mouth turned up in a feral grin. 

“Welcome, Herald of Andraste,” he announced loudly, causing the surrounding conversations to stop completely. 

_Damn._

“I would have greeted you sooner, but my scouts were unaware of your presence until a short while ago,” he continued, voice an oily purr. All the while, he’d been stalking forward, effectively cornering me by the wall. 

_So much for escape._

“I’ve found it’s healthier not to announce my presence until I have some idea of the local atmosphere,” I prevaricated, offering an insincere smile. 

He chuckled. “I am Magister Gereon Alexius. And you…you are the survivor from the Fade, yes? How…interesting.”

The way he said it gave me chills, but I opted to pretend I did not take the statement any other way than face value. “I am,” I said. “And I understand that the mages here are under your command?”

“They are,” he agreed, smirking. “The southern mages have no legal status in the Imperium, as they are not citizens. They must work for ten years before they will gain full rights.”

“And you oversee this work?”

“Of course. I am their protector, after all. When the Conclave was destroyed, these poor souls faced the brutality of the Templars. I stepped in to offer my aid.”

I hummed noncommittally. “Awfully fortuitous timing on your part,” I noted. 

“Quite,” he replied. “It must have been…Divine providence.”

“Indeed,” I remarked blandly. “Well, I came here to see if the mages would be amenable to negotiations on behalf of the Inquisition. We require assistance in closing the Breach.”

“I’m sure,” he said, another serpentine smile twisting across his face. “But, as they are under my command, they no longer have the authority to negotiate for themselves. Fortunately for you, I am willing to listen to the Inquisition’s requests.”

He gestured to the table I had vacated, and sat himself without invitation. 

“Felix, please send for a scribe,” he said to a young man I hadn’t noticed. The boy wore fine clothes, similar to Alexius’, and had a round, open face. He bore a slight resemblance to the Magister. 

“Your son?” I surmised, looking between the two. 

“Yes,” Alexius said. “You are quite observant.”

The boy bowed, clear eyes meeting mine. I got the feeling that he was trying to warn me about something, but what, I couldn’t begin to guess. That his father was a slimy snake? I had already figured that much. 

“Containing the Breach is an ambitious plan,” the Magister observed, drawing my gaze away from his son. “Not many could even attempt it. Who knows how many mages would be required to do such a thing.”

My eyes narrowed, trying to discern his underlying meaning. He seemed far too aware of the Inquisition’s plan, and the Breach in general. Plus, there was his ‘coincidental’ arrival in Ferelden after the Breach first formed. 

“Ah, Felix,” the Magister said, turning his sharp eyes away from me. I followed his gaze, only to see his son stumbling in a dazed way toward our table. I stood quickly, and the boy staggered into my arms. A soft crinkle drew my attention to his fist, which held a crumpled piece of parchment that he deftly shoved into my open palm. 

“Apologies,” he mumbled, sounding tired. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Are you all right?” Alexius asked. He sounded genuinely concerned, which surprised me, given his oily aura during our conversation. 

“Of course, Father,” Felix replied. 

“Come, I’ll get your powders,” Alexius insisted. “Pardon me, my Lady Herald. I will send word to the Inquisition, and we will conclude our business at a later date.” 

He reached out to support his stumbling son, but before Felix turned away, his eyes met mine once again. They were clear, free of any sign of illness or confusion, and carried a significance in the glance they imparted to me. 

I waited until the group was out of the door before turning my attention to the parchment in my hand. It was written in a clear hand.

> _Come to the Chantry. You are in danger._

*

It would be a perfect trap: lure me to the Chantry under the guise of a sympathetic opinion, then attack. I had no backup, but if Felix truly was trying to warn me of something, I couldn’t very well return to Haven and expect him to still be willing or able to help me upon my return. 

I found one of Leliana’s many scouts, and adroitly ‘borrowed’ some of their supplies. A few minutes later, I’d scribbled a quick and vague note to the Spymaster and stashed it in the scout’s pile of outgoing reports. Then I scouted the area around the Chantry. 

It looked innocuous enough, and I saw no armed warriors or mages entering or exiting, but an ambush could easily have been set up while I was in the tavern. 

No point in dithering, I decided, and quickly hoisted myself up to one of the high windows at the back of the building. Mehrune’s Razor slid easily between the panel of glass and the wall holding it in place, and I gently eased it out of the way enough to wiggle through. Once inside, it was a simple matter of reaching up to one of the rafters overhead and hoisting myself into the shadows of the ceiling. 

“Damnation,” a voice muttered below me. I looked down to see a rift hovering in the center of the chapel, and a well-dressed man fighting off the demons that poured out of it. Of Felix, there was no sign, but I hesitated only a moment. If it was a trap, it seemed this innocent bystander had been caught in it. 

It was only a short shuffle along the beam I sat astride to put me above one of the demons. Once there, I drew my dagger, and dropped on the creature like a sack of potatoes. It screamed in surprise, and then was silent as my dagger slit its throat. It dissolved in the strange manner of demons and I fell to the floor with a thud. 

“Well, finally,” the man said, turning to look at me. “If you’re quite finished showing off, would you help me with this next wave?”

I blinked. That hadn’t been quite the greeting I expected, but there was no time to muse on it. The next wave of demons manifested itself, and we were kept busy with them. This rift, like the one outside the village, also had the zones of distorted time, making it difficult to anticipate where the demons would be at any given moment. 

The stranger—a mage, I soon realized, as I saw him launch a quick series of sparks at the demons—held up his side of the battle nicely. He spun gracefully, conjuring his magicka…er, mana, as they call it here. I was impressed. 

“Excellent,” he said as soon as I’d closed the rift. “That is truly fascinating. Do you even know how you do it?”

I looked at him blankly, and he chortled. “You don’t, do you? You just wave your hand around and boom! The rift closes.”

“M-hmm,” I mumbled, watching him curiously. He had an immaculately manicured mustache and goatee, with carefully styled hair. He had the same complexion as Alexius and Felix—another Tevinter, then. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Oh, of course,” he exclaimed. “Apologies. I am Dorian of House Pavus. How do you do?”

I ignored his query. “Are you the one who sent the note? I was expecting Felix.”

“Yes, he was to meet us here after ditching his father,” Dorian replied. “He’ll be along, I’m sure.”

“You aren’t worried that Alexius will catch on to his act?”

Dorian chuckled. “Felix has had some lingering illness for months, and is also a consummate actor. It won’t be hard for him to fool his father. I’m sure Alexius is just being a mother hen.”

“So why did you send the note?” I asked. “Surely it wasn’t just to warn me that there’s danger. That has been obvious since the beginning of all this.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Dorian mused. “But I have a suspicion about Alexius’ involvement in all this. Awfully suspicious how he claimed the allegiance of the mage rebels out from underneath you, isn’t it? Almost like magic, which is exactly what it was.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my dear, that to reach Redcliffe before you, Alexius had to distort time itself.”

“I see,” I ruminated. “That would explain why Fiona had no recollection of speaking with me in Val Royeaux. It’s also why the rifts around here distort time, isn’t it?”

“Very good,” Dorian approved. “You catch on quickly. Unfortunately, the magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling our very reality.”

“And what’s your part in this?”

He sighed. “I helped Alexius develop this magic. He was my mentor, and when I was still his apprentice it was all theory. We could never get it to work. Obviously he’s figured it out, but what I can’t understand is why he’d risk it just to gain a few hundred lackeys.”

“He didn’t do it for them,” said a voice from behind us. I turned to see Felix entering the Chantry. 

“Ah, nice of you to finally join us,” Dorian joshed the younger man. “He’s not getting suspicious, is he?”

“No,” Felix replied with a half-smile. “I shouldn’t have played the illness card though. Thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Then he turned to me. “My father’s joined a cult called the Venatori. They’re Tevinter supremacists, and they’re obsessed with you.”

“With me?” I asked. 

“Yes. I don’t know why, though.”

“You can close the rifts,” Dorian suggested. “Perhaps that’s it.”

“You think these Venatori might be behind the Breach?” I mused. 

“If that’s true, they’re even worse than I thought,” Felix groused. “I love my father, and I love my country, but cults, and time magic? This is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

I sighed. “We agree about that at least. I think it would be best if I confer with the Inquisition’s advisors though, and see if they have any suggestions.”

“Good idea,” Dorian agreed. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe—too much risk that Alexius will discover my presence. But I’ll be in touch, and whatever plan we come up with, I’ll be there.” He turned to leave, but turned back to me. “Oh, and darling? Do try to make your next entrance a little less flashy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I flippin' love Dorian, so I had a lot of fun writing the interaction with him. As always, any feedback is much appreciated~ Also, I will try to post next week, but there's a chance this will be the last update for the month of July.


	14. Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the Advisors are Angry

_I really need to remember to ask Solas if he thinks I could summon Arvak to Thedas,_ I thought as I crept into the stables outside Redcliffe. I’d left my horse with Varric and Solas, and could only assume that they had taken it back to Haven with them. So, I was returning to my roots of petty theft. 

It had been late afternoon by the time I’d finished talking with Dorian and Felix, and I was resolved to reach Haven by nightfall. I didn’t think the Inquisition would approve of my stealing a mount, but I was in a hurry. 

The horse I stole seemed eager to get out of the stables, and happily loped along at a brisk trot when we reached the open road. We made good time, and he was slathered with sweat by the time we reached Haven, early in the night. I rode him directly to the stables and made sure he had a nice helping of mash, and instructed one of the stable hands to rub him down carefully. Then I hurried into the village. 

Varric was at his usual place inside the gates. He waved me over as soon as we spotted each other. 

“Fair warning, Rose, the advisors aren’t happy with you,” he said without preamble. “Seeker especially. We all got reamed when we got back and told them where you were. I’m afraid you’re in for a fight.”

I nodded. “Unfortunately my information isn’t going to make them any happier. Did Bull tell you what we learned?”

“About the Magister? Yeah. Bad news, that. They questioned Tiny extensively when we got back, too. He’s in the tavern, if you want to talk to him before you enter the viper’s nest.”

I smiled briefly, but Varric’s grim expression told me just how concerned he was. “I think I’ll do that. Thanks for the warning.”

“Good luck.”

*

The Iron Bull was seated at a chair against the wall, in much the way he’d been in Redcliffe. The rest of the Chargers were scattered through the small tavern. I began to pick my way through the room toward their commander, but he caught my eye and nodded subtly toward the side door, so I backed out the way I came. 

He met me as I walked around the building. 

“Did you learn anything else?” He asked. 

“Yes,” I said grimly, “and none of it good.”

“That’s typical, when there’s a ‘Vint involved. Magisters are nothing but trouble. Listen, I made your report to the advisors and Cassandra, and they were not happy, Cullen and Cassandra especially. I think you’ve severely damaged their trust in you.”

I grimaced. “I suppose I should have anticipated that.”

“Me, too,” he grumbled. “Cullen is an ex-Templar, after all, and Cassandra is a Seeker of Truth. I don’t know what I was thinking, letting you go to Redcliffe, and then letting you stay there alone.”

“I talked you into it,” I told him. “Let me deal with the advisors. I won’t let this damage our contract with the Chargers.”

“That should be the last of your worries, I think,” he said. “But you’d best get up there before the Spymaster sends some of her scouts to drag you in. I’ll be here, if you want to tell me what you found out afterward. Assuming you’re still in one piece.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered. 

*

Turns out, Varric and Bull’s dire warnings were not unwarranted. Icy glowers from Cassandra and Cullen met me as soon as I opened the door to the war room. Leliana looked as impassive as always, and Josephine appeared decidedly uncomfortable. I took a deep breath, and closed the door behind me. 

As soon as it boomed shut, Cassandra started in on me. 

“What in the name of the Maker were you thinking?” She hissed furiously. “I specifically told you not to do anything rash in Redcliffe, that you were only there to find the Gray Warden. You may have jeopardized our entire mission.”

I bit back my first heated retort. As hard as it was, humility would serve me best in this situation. 

“I know,” I said. “I wanted to see if we could learn anything that would help us decide between the mages and Templars. But I’m afraid the situation is even worse than we thought.”

“How much worse could it be, than the mages allying with Tevinter?” Leliana asked. 

“Ah…” I hedged, “I was recognized, by Fiona, and ended up speaking with Magister Alexius. I told him I’d come to see if the mages were amenable to working with the Inquisition.”

“Great,” Cullen snapped. “Not only have you possibly ruined our chances at an alliance with the Templars, you have initiated negotiations with a Tevinter Magister. How do you think Ferelden and Orlais will look upon the Inquisition if it becomes known that we were willing to make a deal with the Imperium?”

“I will see what I can find out about this Magister,” Josephine interjected. “I have a few contacts in the Imperium—friends from Orlais and Antiva, who were assigned there as diplomats. We will do our best to back out of any implied agreement.”

“That may not be possible,” I said slowly. Four pairs of enraged eyes turned to me. Even Josie looked appalled. 

“It seems this Magister is part of a cult, called the Venatori,” I blurted. “Evidently they’re very interested in me, and he’s been fiddling around with magic that warps time in order to get to the mages before the Inquisition. I don’t think a polite ‘no, thank you’ will stop him from whatever he plans.”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, inhaling sharply, but Leliana held up a hand to forestall him. “Wait, Cullen. Let us hear everything she has to say.”

So I told them the whole story, from sending the Iron Bull back to Haven, through my meeting the Alexius, and ending with Dorian and Felix in the Chantry. By the time I was done, both Cassandra and Cullen were red in the face. Josephine looked worried, and Leliana thoughtful. 

“I see,” the Spymaster mused. “So this Venatori has some sort of interest in the Breach and the rifts. I wonder if that means they’re involved somehow.”

“All the more reason to approach the Templars,” Cullen said. “We’ll close the Breach, then deal with this Venatori.”

I made a small noise of protest but Leliana beat me to it. 

“So we wear ourselves out by closing the Breach only to find a hostile force on our doorstep? No, we need to deal with the Magister first.”

“And as you say, the Herald has already been seen in Redcliffe,” Josephine added. “The Templars may not even agree to meet with us now.”

“And that was not her decision to make,” Cullen shouted, slamming his hand down on the war table with a reverberating _bang_. 

“But she did learn that the mages entered this agreement with a Magister,” Josephine said meekly. “We were not aware of that before.”

“But if we had decided to approach the mages, Leliana would have sent in more scouts and they would have learned it for us,” he replied scathingly. “So we have gained nothing.” He turned his glare on me. “You are only part of this Inquisition because you can close the rifts. You are not even from Thedas. You had no right to decide that we, who have lived among mages and Templars for years, were wrong and approach this Magister on behalf of the entire Inquisition.”

I lowered my gaze, chagrinned at the rage in his eyes. “That was not my intention.”

“Intention or not, that is the result,” he snarled. “How can we possibly trust you to do anything after this?”

“I think that is enough for tonight,” Leliana interjected smoothly, cutting off Cullen’s wrathful words even as they cut me to the core. “It is obvious this Magister has forced our hand, but the four of us will discuss it more tomorrow. For now, we should all get some rest.” I noticed that she said the four, instead of the five, of us. _Guess I’m excluded from the discussion now._

Josephine practically ran from the room, Cassandra striding quickly after her. Cullen continued to glower at me as he gathered the stack of reports in front of him and stomped around the war table. I could feel the heat of anger even when he had left the room. 

Leliana sighed. “I can understand why you went to Redcliffe on your own, but they’re right, you know. It doesn’t help that you basically told them they were fools for not wanting to approach the mages before you left.”

“I didn’t say that,” I objected. 

“Not in so many words, perhaps,” she agreed. “But what’s done is done. It is good to know of this Magister’s involvement. It is just unfortunate that you betrayed a trust to learn of it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. “Did the Warden have any answers?”

“No, he didn’t know anything and was surprised to learn that the rest of the order had vanished. But he did join the Inquisition; he’s bunking in the stables, if you wish to speak with him.” I nodded, and the Spymaster moved to the door. Before she opened it, she turned to give me a stern look.

“And Dόra, I think it would be best if you didn’t leave the compound for a while.”

The door closed behind her, leaving me alone.


	15. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Decisions are Made

The next two days seemed to last forever. I met Warden Blackwall—I sensed that he was hiding something, but his desire to help the Inquisition seemed honest, so I didn’t pry. Vivienne had arrived in Haven while I was absent, but she had obviously heard that I was out of favor with the real leaders behind the Inquisition, and thus only made polite and meaningless conversation with me.

I visited the stables a few times early on in my confinement to Haven, but quickly stopped going beyond the walls by the training grounds. Every time Cullen saw me, his lips would pinch white, and that angry spark would return to his eyes. Cassandra avoided me. If I passed her, her nostrils would flare, but she would pass by without a word. Even Josephine made it obvious that she’d rather I not spend any more time in her office than absolutely necessary. 

The advisors of the Inquisition were yet again embroiled in their private discussions in the war room at the end of the second day after my return, and I took the opportunity to roam beyond the palisade again. I was leaning over the bog unicorn’s stall, stroking the skeletal creature’s nose, when Solas found me. 

“A truly peculiar creature,” he remarked, coming up to stand beside me. “Most would be afraid of it, judging it by its alarming appearance alone.”

I smiled. “That would be their loss,” I replied. “It’s quite a loyal creature, and very calm.”

“Indeed,” he said, reaching in to pat it. A companionable silence fell over us. 

Eventually he looked at me. “They haven’t forgiven you yet?”

“No,” I sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever regain their trust completely, especially Cullen’s.”

“He does have some short-sightedness when it comes to mages.”

“Yeah, but I should have considered his background, and Cassandra’s, when I decided to go to Redcliffe.”

“Would you really have changed your decision if you had, though?” He asked. 

I thought about it. “I don’t know, honestly. I’m just used to being the one in charge of things, following my own counsel and no one else’s.” I sighed, thinking of Delphine and her edict to kill Paarthurnax. “Whenever I’m in a position of being ordered around by someone else, I seem to screw it up.”

“Using your own judgement to come to a conclusion for yourself is not necessarily a mistake,” Solas pointed out. “In this case, you went in with the intent to resolve the advisors’ inability to make a decision, and discovered some valuable information in the process.”

“Perhaps,” I said pensively. “But what brought you down here?”

“I wondered if perhaps you might allow me to ask you some questions about your magic,” he replied. 

“Of course,” I answered. “Actually, that reminds me that I wanted to ask you something. I know a few spells to summon entities, and one of the ones I use most frequently summons a horse from an alternate plane in Skyrim. Do you think I could use such a spell here, to summon him to Thedas?”

The elf looked thoughtfully at the bog unicorn, which was still nuzzling at my hand. “Varric did mention something about an undead horse coming when you called,” he mused. “Tell me about this alternate plane. Is it like the Fade, separate from the waking world of Thedas, but tied to it?”

“I suppose so,” I said. “Aside from the magic difference between the Fade and Thedas, I think it’s probably similar.”

“Hmm.” He turned his back to the stall, crossing his arms in a contemplative pose. The setting sun illuminated him with golden light, and in his eyes I thought perhaps I saw a spark of some ancient wisdom, but I blinked and it was gone. “It is possible, but if the entity in question is somehow tied to your alternate plane, summoning it to Thedas could potentially cut the tie.”

“I’m not sure what that would do to him,” I pondered. “It might be best not to try.”

“It could be a risk,” Solas acknowledged. “Would you mind showing me how you cast a spell? You’ve described the process, of course, but I would be quite interested to see it for myself.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “Though Leliana suggested I not venture any farther away from Haven than the stables, and the advisors might disapprove if I start throwing fireballs or something in the village.”

He laughed, and it suddenly hit me why Varric called him Chuckles. “That may be true. Perhaps you can resolve another curiosity of mine instead. I’ve been wondering if you can use the spells that we do in Thedas. I’ve an extra staff at my house, if you want to give it a try.”

“Only if I can blame you for it if they find out,” I said with a smile. 

He laughed again, a pleasant sound, and we started out of the stable. My ever-present shadow detached itself from the outside wall to follow us. I noticed Solas’ eyes narrow as he noted the scout’s presence. 

“Leliana’s made sure I know I’m being followed ever since I got back from Redcliffe,” I explained. “I’m sure she kept tabs on me before, but it was never this obvious.”

“I see,” he intoned solemnly. 

We had only made it past the palisade gate when one of Leliana’s messengers ran up to us. 

“Pardon, my Lady Herald,” the messenger said, “but Sister Nightingale requests your presence in the war room. There’s been word from Redcliffe.”

“It seems our experiments will have to wait,” Solas said regretfully. 

“Must be an invitation from Alexius,” I mused. “He did say he’d be in touch.”

“Then you’d best not keep the Spymaster waiting.”

*

“He asked for the Herald by name,” Josephine was saying when I silently entered the war room. “It is obviously a trap.”

“How kind of him,” I declaimed brightly, announcing my presence. Only Leliana had spotted me when I entered. “What does Alexius say about me?”

“He was quite complimentary,” Leliana replied with a small smile. “So much so, we are certain he wants to kill you.”

“Well he’s hardly the first,” I said, dropping my falsely cheery tone. “And you’ll note none of the others were successful.”

Cullen scoffed. “You are no match for a Magister and his minions alone. And Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden; we don’t have the manpower to take it. If you go in there, you’ll die, and we’ll lose our only means of closing the Breach. Without another way in, we _must_ give up this nonsense and go get the Templars instead.”

“Not this again,” Josie sighed. 

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister,” Cassandra said defeatedly. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“Not to mention, if we don’t try to meet with Alexius, we allow the rebel mages to strengthen the forces of a Venatori cultist,” Leliana added. 

“I would have thought you’d hashed all this out by now,” I muttered. Only Cassandra heard, but it earned me a dirty look nonetheless. 

“The Magister has outplayed us,” Cullen said, exasperated. 

“In Skyrim, every castle, fortress, and barrow has a back entrance,” I mused. “Surely Redcliffe Castle has something similar?”

“Wait!” Leliana exclaimed. “There is such a thing, an escape route for the family! I used it with the Hero of Ferelden, when the undead hordes were attacking the village. It’s much too narrow to send troops through, but we can send agents.”

“And those agents will be discovered before they even reach the Magister,” Cullen interjected. 

“So we’ll need a distraction,” Leliana responded. “Such as the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

The Commander scowled. “It could work,” he admitted grudgingly. “But it’s a huge risk.”

Suddenly, the door flung wide open, banging into the wall with a crash. We all jumped. 

“Fortunately, you’ll have my help,” Dorian announced, striding through. A harried looking guard hurried up behind him. 

“Sorry, Commander,” the man said, “but this man claims to have information about the Magister.”

Dorian stopped next to me, giving me a cheeky smile. 

“What was that about flashy entrances?” I asked softly. He winked. 

Cullen gave the mage a suspicious glower. 

“Clearly, you didn’t tell them about charming old me,” Dorian noted dryly to me. “Dorian of House Pavus, at your service. Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help, so I’ll be going along.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. 

“The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen said, speaking directly to me for the first time since the meeting began. “We can’t in good conscience order you to do this.” His tone suggested he’d be willing to try it, however. 

I shrugged. “You’re not ordering me. I’m volunteering.”

“Excellent,” Dorian exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “When do we begin?”

“There is some planning we must do first,” Leliana said. “If the two of you will wait outside while we figure out the details?”

It was a subtle dismissal, but a dismissal nonetheless. I nodded my acquiescence, turning to leave and herding a confused Dorian with me. 

“One thing, Herald,” Cassandra said. “I will be accompanying you into the castle.”

Her tone brooked no argument. I nodded my aquiescence.

*

“I assumed you would be involved in the planning process, since you’re the one risking your life?” Dorian asked as we waiting outside the Chantry. 

“Er…I didn’t exactly have the Inquisition’s blessing to approach the mages in the first place, let alone make contact with Alexius,” I said sheepishly. 

“Going rogue, eh? Well, at least you showed good sense in your choice. Your handsome Commander seems most put out with the situation, though.”

“Yes, Cullen is an ex-Templar and felt the most betrayed by my actions, I think,” I sighed. Then I looked at the mage. “Just how long were you standing outside the door listening?”

“Long enough to learn that much, darling,” he laughed. “If I’d have waited too long, though, that guard would have caught up to me and hauled me out. I had a deuce of a time trying to talk my way through them at the gate.”

“Something tells me life with you around will never be dull.”

“I should certainly _hope_ not.”

*

Josephine sent a letter indicating the Inquisition’s acceptance of Alexius’ offer to parlay the next morning. Leliana’s ravens were a constant stream as she sent word to various agents of hers, instructing her people to infiltrate Redcliffe Castle. 

Dorian spent the night in one of the abandoned houses beside the Chantry, and holed up in the tavern for most of the following day. He and the Iron Bull immediately entered into a rivalry, and I could only presume that it was due to the conflict between their peoples. 

Soon enough, everything was arranged. Since I was already disobeying Alexius’ order that I appear alone by taking Cassandra along, I asked Solas and the Iron Bull to accompany me as well. Solas, for his knowledge of arcane lore and theory, and Bull, for his experience fighting Tevinters. Dorian, of course, would go in via the secret passage and meet us inside at an opportune time. 

Our entourage left Haven in a flurry of activity. Leliana was still sending ravens with messages, but managed to give me a stern look before we departed. It seemed to say “I’ll be watching your actions closely.” Josephine ventured out of her Chantry office to wish us luck. Cullen was at his usual post in the training grounds, and scowled at me as I rode by. I sighed. 

“He will not remain angry forever,” Cassandra said, watching me shrewdly. “Though it would speed matters up if you were to apologize.”

“The thing is, I’m not sure I would have done anything differently,” I said honestly. 

She huffed out a breath. “I did not say you should have. But you can understand why Cullen and I were upset, no?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “And I suppose if I had the same background that you and he have, I would have been angry too.”

“Then you can deliver a sincere apology,” she stated.

“Why aren’t you still angry at me?” I asked as the thought occurred to me. 

“Well I am not happy that you chose to act on your own,” she replied. “But to be honest, I probably should have anticipated it when you sent me back to Haven.” Her voice sounded sad, and her eyes were downcast. 

A pang of guilt shot through me. Not only had I potentially worsened things for the Inquisition, but I had successfully alienated some of the best people I’d met in this strange land. Now Cassandra was second-guessing her judgment, because of my actions. 

I must have looked exceptionally dejected. She glanced up at me again, and a wry smile twisted her lips. “You are used to following no one’s orders except your own, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Working with an institution such as this is definitely not in my realm of expertise.”

“We must become accustomed to working with someone as self-sufficient as you, as well. And, I must admit we perhaps over-reacted. We have been trusting you to go out and operate on behalf of the Inquisition, making connections, closing rifts, and yet we were so unhappy when you sought out information to help make an informed decision. For that, I owe you an apology as well.”

I smiled at her gratefully. “Then consider this my apology for not seeking your counsel before going to Redcliffe. Are we even now?” 

She laughed, and it seemed we were.

*

The outskirts of Redcliffe village seemed unusually quiet as we rode by, as though the inhabitants somehow knew of the confrontation to come and were making themselves scarce. Warriors in Tevinter garb prowled the walls of the keep, and watched us suspiciously as we dismounted in the stable yard. Cassandra and Solas fell in behind me, with the Iron Bull bringing up the rear, and with a deep breath, I led the way into the castle. 

Two guards blocked our way before we could enter the throne room. 

“I am the Herald of Andraste,” I announced, drawing myself up to my full height. “Magister Alexius requested my presence.”

“He requested you alone,” one of the guards responded. “The others can wait here.”

“They are here to negotiate with me on behalf of the Inquisition,” I replied scathingly. “Where I go, they go.”

The guard hesitated, seeming to want to hold his ground, but wisely backed down. I smiled grimly. In a test of wills between us, I knew well who would win.

Alexius was seated on the Arl’s throne, Felix standing beside him. 

“Ah, my friend,” the Magister greeted us, saying nothing of my companions. “How nice to see you again. Shall we begin our negotiations? You need mages to close the Breach, and mages I have. What will you offer for them?”

“Nothing,” I said, baring my teeth at the slimy man. “I’m just going to take them.”

He barked a humorless laugh. “How do you propose to do such a thing? You are here in my stronghold, surrounded by my forces, with only two comrades to back you up. I’d say I have the upper hand here.”

“Are you quite certain about that?” I asked as Leliana’s agents crept up behind the Venatori lining the room, quickly incapacitating them. “It seems to me that I do.”

“Really, Alexius, that was terribly clichéd,” Dorian said, stepping out from the shadows. “Now you simply look like the stereotypical villain they expect Tevinters to be.”

Alexius narrowed his eyes at the mage. “I should have known you were involved in this, Dorian. But the Elder One will not be denied. The mistake shall be rectified.”

He raised his fist and drew on his mana. A blocky talisman rose out of his clenched palm. 

“No!” Dorian shouted, flinging a half-formed spell at the Magister just as the talisman began to surge with green light. Alexius was knocked to the side, but the green light pulsed and then exploded outward, and I felt myself being drawn into the abyss of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun, to the future! Thanks for reading, and as always, feedback is super duper appreciated~ ;)


	16. A Glimpse of Things to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the Situation Gets Worse

Who knows how long we were in the disorienting swell of mana. It could have been days or merely minutes. There was no sense of up or down, and my head felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. Finally, I dropped into a shallow pool of stagnant water. As I blubbered my way to an upright position, I heard a curse. 

“Where did they come from?” An unfamiliar voice asked. I looked up to see myself in a stone and brick room, glowing with an eerie red light. More spluttering and coughing announced the presence of Dorian, clambering to his feet beside me. Two dumbfounded guards stood blocking the iron door.

My swords whistled out of their sheathes and I charged before the pair could recover. Surprised as they were, it was a matter of moments before they were dispatched. I turned to find Dorian muttering to himself, looking nonchalantly about the room. I wasn’t sure he even realized that I had just killed two men. 

“Displacement?” He mused to himself. “Curious.”

“What’s curious?” I asked.

“Ah,” he started, as if only just becoming aware of my presence. “Well. It’s probably not what Alexius intended…”

“ _What_ wasn’t what Alexius intended,” I said in exasperation. I could appreciate advanced magic as much as the next person, but I didn’t really think this was the time or place.

“He used the talisman as a focus, to summon a rift,” Dorian explained, sounding surprised that I hadn’t followed his train of thought. “The rift must have moved us…but why to here?”

We looked around the room. It seemed to be a dungeon of some sort, given the water trickling down the stone walls and the bars and iron door set into one side of the chamber. 

“I suppose he could have just wanted to move us here so we’d be out of the way, and confined,” Dorian pondered, “but he’ll still have to deal with Cassandra and Solas, and the agents Leliana sent.”

I looked toward the door, where the bodies of the two guards slouched in the shallow water. They obviously hadn’t been expecting us to appear, and yet here they were, guarding an otherwise empty cell. 

“Is it possible it’s something more than displacement?” I asked slowly. Dorian looked at me in confusion. “You said Alexius has been messing with time magic. Is it possible he sent us through time?”

“Of course!” He exclaimed. “It’s not just where, it’s when. We need to find out how far through time we’ve been moved. Of course the first order of business is getting out of this cell.”

“Leave that to me,” I said, drawing my lockpicks out of the ever-present pouch I kept at my waist. 

“What a handy skill that must be,” Dorian murmured as he watched me insert the thin blades into the lock. With a snick, the latch popped open. 

“Let’s see where we are, shall we?” I invited, gesturing the mage through the open door.

It was all dark, and wet, and the red glow was coming from ominous red crystals lining the walls. I remembered Varric had told me about red lyrium, and surmised this must be the same substance. 

“This is Redcliffe Castle,” Dorian said, looking around us. 

“How do you know?”

“We passed through this way after we came out of the secret passage, though then it was decorated with the tackiest carvings of dogs and wolves I’ve ever seen.” He sniffed primly. “This is not an improvement.”

We continued on, passing numerous other cells, some with decaying remains of the prisoners, and all with large growths of red lyrium. 

“Wouldn’t have thought a backwater village like Redcliffe would have required such an extensive dungeon,” Dorian observed. 

We passed yet another cell, and I stopped short. 

“What is it?” my companion asked, stopping to follow my gaze. Then he gasped. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

The petite elf was locked in a cell that had mostly overgrown with red lyrium. She was squashed up against the wall, and it appeared that her lower body had melded with the crystal. Her eyes glimmered red when she opened them, and she gazed at us listlessly. 

“You’re alive?” She said finally. Her voice was rusty and her words came in gasping breaths. “But…you disappeared. Into the rift.”

“What is the date?” Dorian asked urgently. “Can you tell us?”

She shrugged, or tried to. “Somewhere around Harvestmere,” she panted. “9:42 Dragon.”

“We’ve missed an entire year,” Dorian exclaimed. 

“We need to see if we can undo this,” I replied grimly. “Fiona, can you tell us what happened? It seems Alexius sent us forward in time.”

“He serves the Elder One,” she whispered, pained. “No one can challenge him and live. You must reverse this. Go.”

“But,” I protested, “we can’t just leave you.”

The Grand Enchanter chuckled harshly. “You have no choice. Find your Spymaster: she is here. Now hurry, before the Elder One learns of your presence.”

We hustled out of Fiona’s cell-block, feeling an even stronger sense of urgency. Whatever Alexius had been up to in the past year, it had obviously not gone well for the Inquisition.

The passageway branched shortly beyond. Both directions showed more rows of cells, but no clue as to which went to the upper levels of the castle. 

“Any ideas?” I asked Dorian.

“Darling, dungeons all look the same to me,” he replied. 

He was saved from my scathing retort by an off-key song floating down from the left-most passage. 

“300 bottles of beer on the wall…” slurred the voice. 

“Oh joy,” Dorian muttered. “The Qunari.”

I hurried ahead of the grumbling mage. 

The mercenary leader stood in a cell much like Fiona’s, his back to the door. I quickly brought out my picks and knelt in front of the lock. 

“Bull,” I said quietly, announcing my presence. 

He whirled around. The same red glow as Fiona’s shone in his eyes, and he was surrounded by a sparking aura of red light. 

“Boss?” His tone was bewildered, voice echoing with a crackle of magic. “You’re supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the ground, and you disappeared into the rift. Poof!”

“Alexius’ spell sent us through time,” I explained as I unlocked the door. “This, for us, is the future.”

“Well for me it’s the present,” Bull grouched. “And in my past you definitely died.”

“Clearly we didn’t, though,” Dorian said, coming up behind me. “As we are obviously alive now.” 

Bull glowered at the mage, and I quickly stepped in. 

“We’re going to find Alexius, fight him, and see about reversing this. You coming?”

Bull scoffed, but strode out of the cell. New scars marred his body, and the red aura I’d observed seemed to be eating him from the inside out. 

“Alexius isn’t the one you need to worry about,” he said. “It’s his Elder One. He killed the Empress of Orlais, invaded the south with a demon army. You ever fought a demon army? I don’t recommend it.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say I’d probably fought something similar, but I bit the words back at the horrified light shining in Bull’s eyes. “Alexius will regret what he’s done,” I said instead. 

Bull grunted. “Let’s move. The others are here somewhere too, Solas and Cassandra. If they’re not dead yet.”

“Then we have to find them, and Leliana,” I said firmly. 

*

We found Cassandra and Solas farther down the passageway. They both looked in about the same shape as the Iron Bull, scarred and scared and numb with defeat. 

“He uses the prisoners as farms for the red lyrium,” Solas said while we crept through a more lived-in part of the castle. His face was hollow and gaunt. “This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”

“Please let us be able to reverse this,” Cassandra added, eyes haunted.

Shrieks from the rooms ahead indicated that we’d found the torture chambers. I barged through the first door we came to without any hesitation. The prisoner, a cleric, hung limp in her chains, and the five of us made short work of the Venatori surrounding her, but when I went to unlock the shackles, I realized she was dead. 

“Talos guide you,” I murmured, closing her staring eyes. It was perhaps not the most appropriate benediction for an Andrastian, but it was the best I felt I could do. If I’d just arrived a minute sooner, she might still be alive. Rage coursed through me as I surveyed the bodies of the torturers. 

“Let’s go,” I said, and my companions followed in solemn silence.

Another scream sounded from a room at the end of the hall. 

“Never,” a defiant voice croaked out, and I recognized Leliana’s accent. With a roar, I drew my swords and kicked down the sturdy wooden door. One man stood before Leliana, instruments of torment spread out on a table behind him. Two others sat by the door, there, I surmised, to assist in holding down struggling bodies. 

One sweep of my blade sent the head of the nearest Venatori flying, and the next sliced through the second one’s belly. I turned to dispatch the torturer but found that Leliana had beaten me to it. Her legs were wrapped tightly around the man’s neck, cutting off his airway, and as soon as his struggles weakened, a quick snap of Leliana’s hips broke his neck. I hurriedly retrieved the key ring hanging at his belt. 

“Oh, Leliana,” I heard Cassandra gasp in a choked voice at the sight of her friend. 

“You’re alive,” the Spymaster breathed. I glanced at her as I stood to unlock her bonds. Her once smooth face was pocked and scarred, stretched taut across her skull. Her hair hung in drab hanks, and clumps had either fallen or been ripped from her head. 

“Alexius didn’t kill us,” I explained quickly, bracing her upright as her feet hit the floor. “His spell sent us forward in time. We’re going to try to fix this.”

“I see,” she said, quickly moving herself away from my supporting arm. She stumbled a bit, but seemed determined to make it without my help. “Do you have weapons?”

I nodded. 

“Good. Let us go find the Magister.”

“That’s it?” Dorian asked in surprised. “You don’t have any questions?”

“No,” she said icily. “Now let’s go.”

*

Red lyrium still grew from the walls, and the castle showed signs of long-neglected filth and disrepair, but we encountered more Venatori as we went along. Two rifts hung suspended in an outdoor courtyard that we passed through, spewing demons. 

“The Veil is shattered,” Solas said, looking at the sky. The Breach had expanded and now filled the entire horizon. “The boundary between this world and the Fade is no more.” He looked unaccountably sad. 

“We’ll fix it,” I promised softly. If he heard, he gave no indication.

“We must be getting close,” I said when we entered what had once been a finely decorated hall, with elegantly carved doors lining the sides. 

“This is the royal wing,” Leliana replied. “Or was. The throne room is close.”

It too was guarded by demons, and a sturdy door with a complicated lock, but we were determined, and all obstacles fell before us. 

Alexius stood in the throne room, on the dais practically right where we had left him, one year in the past. Felix was there too, but I barely recognized him as the sober, open boy who had pushed the note into my hand in Redcliffe. His face was skeletal, and his veins showed as spidery black trails across pale skin. He crouched on the floor like an animal.

“You have much to answer for, Alexius,” I announced as we approached. He turned to face us, and I was surprised at the utter dejection on his face, the defeated hunch of his shoulders. 

“There’s no longer anywhere to run,” the Magister said in a dead voice. 

“That’s it?” I asked. “I expected more of a fight.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I failed, one final time. Now, all we can do is wait for the end. The Elder One comes.”

Abruptly, Leliana sprang out of the shadows behind Felix, and in a blink, grabbed him up and put her knife to his throat. 

“No!” Alexius cried, extending an arm toward his son. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you ask.”

I examined Felix more closely. He seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, unresistant to the Spymaster’s hold on him, and unresponsive to his father’s distress. My heart sank. The boy was as good as dead already. 

“Let him go, Leliana,” I said gently. “His death will gain us nothing, and besides, he’s innocent.”

“No one is innocent,” she sneered, and plunged the blade into Felix’s throat. 

“No!” Alexius fell by his son’s body, grasping it to him, and let out a strangled cry. Then he grabbed up his staff and swung it.

His spell caught Leliana a glancing blow, and she spun about, falling heavily off the dais. 

I dodged as the Magister’s grief-spawned spells whizzed through the room. I couldn’t get close enough to him to use my blades, so I summoned fireballs to one hand and vampiric drain to the other. Solas and Dorian flung spells from their staffs as well, and Cassandra and Bull tried to get close enough to the anguished Magister to engage in melee combat. 

Alexius hopped about the room, using his magic to teleport him away when our warriors got too close. “You will never win!” He taunted. “The Elder One will destroy you!”

Finally we cornered him. All of us were panting with exertion, Alexius most of all. 

“You lose, Alexius,” I said grimly, and ran Mehrunes’ Razor into his gut. With one last gurgling groan, he collapsed to the ground. Dorian knelt beside his old mentor sadly. 

“He did all of this to save Felix. And then he lost him long ago, and never even noticed. He wanted to die, didn’t he?”

Alexius had made many grave mistakes, but I felt a stirring of sympathy for Dorian. He had once respected Alexius a great deal. 

“We can at least try to go back and stop this from coming to pass,” I reminded him gently. “But we need to get back to our present, first.”

“Right, of course,” he said, and reached out and yanked the amulet from Alexius’ neck. “Excellent, it seems to be the same one we developed together in Minrathous. Given an hour or so, I should be able to reverse the spell and get us back.”

“An hour?” Leliana burst out, stomping over to the mage. “You must go back this instant!”

“I can’t just snap my fingers and reverse—” Dorian began to protest, but a loud roar cut him off. It shook the very foundation of the castle, and the walls shuddered. It spoke with a strange accent, but I thought I could just understand a few words in Dovahzul. My eyes widened. 

“The Elder One,” Leliana intoned gravely. 

“The Elder One is a dragon?” I exclaimed. The five of them looked at me in surprise. The dragon roared again. 

“There’s no time,” Leliana snapped. She looked imperially at the others, as if in question. They looked back at her, then at each other, and nodded solemnly. 

“We’ll hold them off,” the Iron Bull rumbled. 

Cassandra grunted her agreement. “For as long as we can.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t let you sacrifice yourselves.”

“We are already dead,” Solas said, meeting my eyes. The pain hidden in their depths staggered me. He looked so old, and so sad, as though _he_ were the cause of this madness rather than Alexius and the Elder One. 

“The only way we live is if this never comes to pass,” Leliana agreed. She turned to Dorian. “Do your magic. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Dorian dragged me to the dais, my entire being resisting as I watched my friends walk out the castle door, to face whatever horrors the Elder One threw at them. Leliana positioned herself between us, her back straight, proud and undefeated even in the face of her own death. 

It seemed an eternity that I stood there, helplessly waiting, while the sounds from outside grew more and more fearsome. Dorian muttered frantically to himself as he fiddled with Alexius’ talisman. I choked back a sob as the sounds beyond the door grew louder, closer. 

Finally, the great door burst inward. Leliana raised her bow, and began to recite. I recognized the words as the Chant of Light. Demons poured through the opening, faster than she could fire. I moved to step off the dais.

“No!” Dorian yelled sharply, grabbing my hand to hold me back. “If you move, we will all die!”

One of the demons dragged in the prone form of Cassandra, and another threw the ruined remnants of the Iron Bull’s body to the ground. Leliana was still firing rapidly, but she would soon be overrun. 

“How much longer?” I asked Dorian, my voice anguished. I cursed my foolishness in leaving my bow back in Haven.

“Just a few minutes,” he replied, not looking up. I looked back at the demon horde. Venatori agents were visible behind the initial wave now, and one of them managed to get behind Leliana, knife drawn. She struggled, and her eyes met mine. 

“Go,” she mouthed, and the Venatori’s knife plunged into her throat. 

Green strobe-like lights from behind me indicated Dorian’s spell was working, but the horde was advancing on us quickly now. I backed up closer to the mage. 

“We’re not going to make it,” he whispered, looking at the encroaching demons with horror. “Just a few seconds more, and we could change this.”

“We will,” I said, and summoned the remnants of my drained magicka. A firebolt flew into the nearest demon, but still they came. 

_Fine,_ I thought. _Let’s see how you like going up against the Dragonborn._

**”IIZ. SLEN. NUS.”**

The Shout rippled forward, freezing demon and Venatori alike. It only worked on the front-most enemies, but the back ranks were startled and had to move around the wall of solid ice. It gave us just enough time. 

The portal dragged us back in, squeezing, swirling, and the world descended into darkness.


	17. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dόra Really Sucks at Keeping Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, woohoo! Sorry it’s late, I’ve been having major internet issues and have had to call the Century Link tech four times in the last week. Here's hoping it's fixed now though...

Cassandra stared in dismay at the scorched floor where the Herald had stood. The Magister had opened a rift, right there in the throne room, and Dόra had vanished into it. They had failed. 

“Uh oh,” the Iron Bull rumbled. “More trouble?”

Cassandra looked up to see what the Qunari was referring to. Absently she noticed Alexius, smiling grimly at his success, and her temper flared to life. She would make him pay for what he had done. She drew her sword and prepared to charge.

“Wait,” Solas said softly, laying a hand at her elbow. “Let us see what this is.” The elf looked stricken, but there was a cautiously hopeful look in his eyes. Cassandra followed his gaze.

There, above the Magister, a small flicker of green was growing. The amulet in Alexius’ fist was quiet and dark, so Cassandra surmised that the Magister hadn’t summoned this new rift that was forming. However, that didn’t mean it still wouldn’t bode ill for them.

Suddenly, the tiny tear sparked and flashed, and grew into a full blown rift, and the Herald and Dorian poured from the vortex! Cassandra gasped in relief. 

Alexius looked stunned. He raised his fist to gather his magic once more, but Dorian leapt forward. 

“I don’t think so,” the mage said, knocking the talisman from his former mentor’s hand. 

“It’s over, Alexius,” Dόra stated, advancing on the Magister as though she’d like nothing better than to punch him in the face. She was bloodied, hair tangled, and an icy anger seemed to emanate from her. 

Alexius glanced around, desperate, but his Venatori agents were all dead, and none of the mage rebels present raised a hand to help him. Even his son, Felix, watched in stony silence. He hung his head in defeat.

*

Alexius didn’t resist as they tied him securely and escorted him out of the room under heavy guard. All of Leliana’s agents surrounded him, and I found I had no worries about the Magister escaping. 

Felix drifted over to us, looking sorrowful. I felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. 

“You’re welcome to come to Haven with us, and visit him,” I said. Then I hesitated. “…I don’t know what the Inquisition will decide to do with him, in the end. I’m afraid execution is likely.”

Felix nodded, looking lost. “I understand. I…I would like to talk to him before you leave, if I may. Then I suppose I’ll go back to Tevinter.”

I nodded, and jerked my head at Cassandra, who hovered nearby. She eyed Felix suspiciously, but grunted in assent. 

“Follow me,” she said. “I will make sure you are allowed to speak with him.”

Dorian and I watched as the two hurried after the defeated Magister. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with,” Dorian said, sounding almost back to his usual chipper self. “Or…perhaps not.”

The source of his concern was a contingent of armed men marching smartly through the front door—the front door that so recently I had seen my friends go through to die. The rage I’d felt in the future Redcliffe kindled back to life, and I found myself striding forward to where Fiona and some of the other mages huddled, Solas and the Iron Bull standing off to the side. We all stood silently as the soldiers who had entered the room turned smartly and saluted, just as a handsome couple in fine clothes entered the room. 

_Nobles,_ I thought in disgust. My head began to pound, and I could feel my eyelid twitch.

“Grand Enchanter,” the man greeted in a carrying voice, “we’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.”

Fiona stumbled forward, eyes wide. “King Alistair,” she gulped. “Queen Anora.”

“When we allowed the mages to seek sanctuary in Redcliffe,” the woman, Queen Anora, announced in a nasally voice, “we did not give them leave to drive our people from their homes. You and your rebels must be punished accordingly.”

I noticed King Alistair give his wife a sour look. It seemed they didn’t quite agree on how to treat the mages. 

“Your Majesties, I assure you we never intended—” Fiona began, but the Queen interrupted her. 

“Good intentions are not enough,” she said haughtily. 

Alistair stepped forward. “I’m afraid you and your followers are no longer welcome in Fereldan,” he said, sounding stern, but his face looked almost apologetic. “Either leave of your own accord, or we will be forced to make you leave.”

Fiona looked stricken. “We have hundreds,” she said in a small voice. “Where will we go?”

I cleared my throat, and stepped forward, facing the Grand Enchanter. 

“May I point out that the Inquisition came here for the mages? We need your help to close the Breach.”

“I…suppose so,” Fiona said hesitantly. “What are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Undoubtedly better than what Alexius offered you,” Dorian muttered. 

I looked at the petite elven mage, considering. After a moment, I made my decision. Cassandra and Cullen wouldn’t like it, but I would deal with that. 

“Fiona,” I said formally, offering my hand to her, “the Inquisition would be honored to have the mages as allies.”

She looked surprised. “That is most generous.”

Queen Anora spluttered angrily. “After all they’ve done, you’re just going to allow them free rein?”

“Now, dear,” Alistair muttered, but she overrode him. 

“No! I will not allow it!”

My temper snapped. 

I strode up to the angry monarch, sizing her up with a glance. I’d seen her kind before: arrogant, power-hungry nobles who would destroy anyone who dared disagree with their decisions. 

“It seems to me,” I said in a low voice, “that you and your husband forfeited any authority over the mages when you told them to leave your borders.” 

The blonde woman’s mouth worked soundlessly before she spluttered in indignation. “How dare you! Who do you think you are?”

_Dragonborn, Harbinger, Listener, Nightingale…I could go on._

I smiled grimly, towering over her. 

King Alistair coughed. “Yes, well, as long as the mages do not return to Ferelden. Come along, Anora.”

He moved to walk away but gave me an appraising glance, and I could have sworn as he turned away that a small smile crossed his lips and he murmured, “just like Mahariel.”

“Well then, it seems we have little choice,” Fiona said, standing beside me while the monarchs and their parade-worthy escort vacated the premises. “We accept the Inquisition’s offer of an alliance.” 

*

We spent the night in Redcliffe. The rest of the day had been spent in a flurry of activity, trying to organize the mages and arrange transportation for children and elders who couldn’t march the entire way to Haven, and sending messages to Haven so they would know how many to expect. 

Cassandra had pursed her lips together in disapproval when she learned that I had offered the mages no limitations for their assistance, but she met my eyes and nodded, letting me know that she at least would abide by my decision. 

Felix spoke briefly with Dorian after meeting with his father for one last time, and then he departed Redcliffe, leading those few members of the household staff that Alexius had brought who hadn’t been involved in the Venatori cult. 

Solas quizzed me mercilessly about the future I had seen, particularly about the Breach’s expansion and destruction of the Veil. I finally left him with creases between his brows, staring into the fireplace in the tavern. 

I sought my bed early, temples still pounding as they had been since shortly after we’d gotten back from that bleak future. The respite of sleep was elusive, though, and I spent the night starting awake from terrible dreams in which Alexius’ Elder One had invaded Skyrim, and visions of my children and friends in cells with red lyrium growing from their bodies. 

I was in a waspish mood the following morning, and avoided most everyone until we were finally ready to leave. I led my horse at the front of the throng, wishing he was the comforting presence of Arvak or Shadowmere. 

Fiona caught up with me before we’d gone very far.

“I was surprised that you were so firm in your opinions when speaking to the Queen and King of Fereldan,” the elven mage said cautiously. 

I snorted. The headache was coming back full force, and I had no yen to deal with her delicate suggestions. 

“I assassinated the Emperor of Cyrodiil, so titles do not impress me.” I looked at her pointedly. “I suggest you think about that, before you decide to stab me in the back.”

Her face paled with fear and affront. “I am the Grand Enchanter,” she spluttered indignantly. “How dare you threaten me?”

“And I’m the Archmage of the College of Winterhold,” I retorted. “So, once again, titles do not impress me.”

I swung up onto the horse, and spurred him ahead, leaving the shocked elf in the dust. 

Dorian caught up with me toward midafternoon. We had stopped a few times to rest, but were finally almost to Haven. 

“I’m told you’re rather prickly today,” he said by way of greeting. 

I grunted in assent. 

“Let me guess. Trouble sleeping?”

“You think?” I asked sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you fared any better.”

“Doubtful,” he said softly. We rode in silence for a time. 

“I wanted to ask,” he began hesitantly, “about that spell you used right before we came back through the rift.”

I remained silent.

“It was like no magic I have ever seen before,” he ventured. 

“It…it’s a magic that is specific to my homeland, Skyrim,” I said finally. “And…I would be most grateful if you would keep it to yourself.”

He looked at me searchingly, but nodded. “Do you mind if I ask you some more questions about it?”

“I suppose not.”

“Solas told me yesterday of the tales you’d told him, of the Dragonborn and dragon language and what have you. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? One of those Shouts?”

“Yes,” I agreed grudgingly. I really wasn’t sure why I was keeping my status as Dragonborn from them anymore, but it just seemed less complicated if they didn’t know.

“And that’s how you knew that the Elder One is a dragon?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “It spoke in a strange accent, but it was definitely Dovahzul, the dragon tongue.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “You know, when I think of dragons, I often associate them with Archdemons. Are you familiar with the Darkspawn?”

“Varric told me the tale of the Hero of Ferelden,” I said, confused. “What do they have to do with dragons?”

“The Archdemons always take the form of a dragon,” Dorian replied. “No one is entirely sure if they are dragons that have been corrupted by the Blight, or if the Archdemon somehow possesses the dragon, but every Archdemon in history has always had the shape of a dragon. And there were rumors some time ago, shortly after the fifth Blight, of highly intelligent darkspawn being spotted in the Deep Roads. I wonder if that’s what we’re dealing with.”

I considered what little I knew of Blights. “In the future, the Iron Bull said that the Elder One had invaded Thedas with a demon army. If the Elder One was an Archdemon, wouldn’t he invade with a darkspawn army, like during a Blight?”

“Hmm,” Dorian mused. “You may have a point. We need more information.”

“Do you think Alexius would know anything?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. When he was talking to Felix yesterday, he admitted that the Elder One had promised that he could cure Felix in exchange for Alexius’ services—namely, killing you. I’m not sure Alexius would have asked many questions as long as he was promised his son’s life.”

“What’s wrong with Felix?” I asked. I knew he was ill, but the specifics had never come up. 

“He had a run in with some darkspawn a few years ago. Now he’s tainted, and it’s slowly killing him.”

I thought about the poor wasted creature in the future Redcliffe—all that had remained of Felix. I shuddered. 

“Best not to think too much about it,” Dorian said, patting my shoulder in sympathy. 

*

Feeling somewhat guilty at my earlier threats, I stayed with the mages long enough to ensure that Fiona’s demands would be respected. She quickly set to work, first seeing that the children were cared for, and once that was done, she waved me off. 

“Thank you for your consideration, Herald, but I’m sure we can handle it from here,” she said, not meeting my eyes. I sighed and went in search of the advisors. 

“There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!” Cullen was saying when I entered the war room. “It is non-negotiable!”

“We cannot rescind the offer of an alliance,” Josephine responded, sounding annoyed. “It would make the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, and tyrannical at worst.”

Cullen caught sight of me then. “What were you thinking?” He bellowed, causing Josie to jump. 

“If I’m going to take sides in this war, Cullen, I’m not going to do it half-heartedly,” I snapped. “They’re people, just like anyone else. We need their cooperation if we’re going to stand a chance of closing the Breach, and preventing the future I saw from coming to pass.”

He glowered at me and then turned on Cassandra. “How could you let her do this?”

“Actually, I happen to agree with her,” the Seeker said. We all stared at her in surprise. 

“What?” She asked defensively. “The sole point of this mission was to gain the mages, and that was accomplished.”

“Aha! The voice of pragmatism!” Dorian’s voice chortled from the doorway. “How delightful.”

Cassandra turned to him with a disgusted look, much like the one she always gave Varric. “Closing the Breach is the most important thing,” she stated.

“I’m very concerned about the things you saw in this future,” Leliana said. She’d been quiet since I entered the room, reviewing reports with a concerned expression. “But Cassandra is right. The Breach must be dealt with first. Why don’t you rest, Dόra? We will take care of the planning.”

I hesitated. 

“Come, darling, you can show me this Breach up close,” Dorian said, sashaying in to take my arm. “I’d like to see it before we advance on it with our army of mages.”

“You’re staying?” I asked in surprise. I’d assumed he’d join Felix back in Tevinter. 

“We both saw what’s at stake,” he said solemnly. “I will do everything I can to keep that future from coming to pass.”

*

It was decided that we would attempt the Breach in two days. In the meantime, the mages and I would rest, conserving our magicka. 

I took stock of my effects from Skyrim. I had no idea what would happen—if I would die sealing the Breach, if somehow I would get sucked back through into Tamriel, or if I would be stuck in Thedas—but whatever it was, I would be ready for it. 

My ancient shrouded armor looked a little worse for wear, but it would do for one last battle. Dragonbane, Harkon’s Blade, and Mehrune’s Razor had all been honed to a razor edge, and my Nightingale bow had a fresh gut string. It was tucked tidily inside the quiver with my mis-matched selection of arrows. The Sanguine Rose was tied alongside it. I had no soul gems, nor an arcane enchanter, so I could not replenish the enchantments on anything, but I hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. 

The rest of my belongings were stashed in my small pack. I eyed my last two blood potions thoughtfully. I was due to feed again, but the influx of so many mages into Haven, and subsequent paranoia of non-mage and Templar alike, made it harder to sneak around at night. I hesitated only a moment before snagging one of the potions and draining it in a single gulp. The final vial went carefully into the pack. 

The waiting was miserable. I’d gone after Alduin alone (not including the dead heroes in Sovngarde), and Harkon and Miraak with only one companion—Serana and Frea respectively. This concept of marching at the head of an army was almost intolerable. I longed to strike out on my own, fending for myself as I had done so many times before. But after all the interminable waiting, finally, the third day dawned. We were ready to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The secrets are coming out...! Hope you enjoyed~ This may be the last chapter for a little while, as I’m going to be really busy in September and don’t have any more chapters drafted fully. In the meantime though, I’d love some input! My plan was to more or less follow DAI canon after this, but obviously with a DB twist (and another related twist that’ll come right after Haven but I don’t want to spoil it lol)…but some comments about Dόra letting the advisors walk all over her have got me thinking it could be super fun to have an arc focusing on that. Say, perhaps, Dόra gets sick of their distrust and goes off and does her own thing (taking matters into her own hands at Adamant or Halamshiral?), and they realize ‘oh shit we actually really need her’ and go running around trying to catch up….what do you guys think? *waggles eyebrows*


	18. The Storm Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Everything Goes to Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?? A chapter????? Amazing!

Everyone was antsy as we marched to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Our small contingent of Templars had formed a cautious ring around the mages that followed me, and both factions jumped at the slightest of rustles in the bushes.  I prayed silently that there would be no incidents before we reached our destination.

The Divines must have been smiling on me, for the ruins of the temple appeared with no trouble.

I glanced sidelong at Solas, who rode beside me.

“You really believe this will work?” I asked.

He nodded, expression thoughtful as he watched the swirling Breach. “The Breach is outside my realm of expertise, but I think the theory that enough magic focused through your mark will close it is sound enough.”

I sighed. “So we’re just testing another theory.”

“It worked out for us in Redcliffe,” Dorian replied jovially. He rode behind me, beside Varric and Blackwall.  Bull and Sera were behind them, with Vivienne riding slightly ahead of Fiona, at the forefront of the mages.  It looked rather as though the two were involved in some heated discussion. 

“This must work,” Cassandra said from my other side. She looked at me with determination on her face, but I could see the uncertainty lurking just beneath.  “Besides,” she added, “Solas’ theories have not been wrong yet.”

Varric laughed. “That’s a glowing recommendation coming from you, Seeker.”

Cassandra huffed and turned away.

I smiled. These people had become good friends to me, and their attempts at lighthearted banter meant more than I could say.  I was just as nervous approaching the Breach as I had been flying to Skuldafn Temple to battle Alduin. 

We had all very carefully avoided talk of what would happen when I closed the Breach. Would it send me back to Skyrim?  Would I be trapped here in Thedas?  My heart squeezed in my chest as I thought of my girls back home, waiting for their mother.  I knew they were well taken care of, but it hurt my soul to think that I may never see them again.  I didn’t even know how likely it was that I would survive this encounter. 

All too soon we’d lined up along the balcony I’d leapt over what seemed so long ago. The Breach swirled agitatedly above us, almost like it knew we were there to seal it.  I gazed upward through the ruins.

“Mages, focus past the Herald,” I heard Solas command from behind me. Threads of mana began to filter past, and at Solas’ nod, I _reached_ out with the mark, gathering them in.  My skin buzzed, my senses grew numb, and when I finally had as much mana as I could hold, I pushed it all out through the mark toward the Breach.

The now-familiar ropes of green energy connected my hand to the huge rift in the sky, spitting and sparking. It resisted—oh how it resisted.  I pushed at the Breach, and the Breach pushed right back, while simultaneously trying to draw me in.  The sky spit green lightning, my arms quivered, and with a final roar, the Breach closed. 

*

The march back to Haven was lighthearted. Relief was everywhere—in the laughter of the mages behind me, in the eyes of the advisors as they greeted us at the gates, in the faces of the townspeople who had stayed in Haven. 

“C’mon Herald-lady, let’s start this party!” Sera cried, leaping forward to grab my hands and pull me toward the tavern.

“Now?” I asked, laughing.

“Of course now! We just closed the giant arse-hole in the sky, when else should we celebrate?”

“She has a point, Rose,” Varric chuckled, coming up beside me.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Josephine said, “but I agree with Sera. This is absolutely the best time for a party.”

Sera stared at Josephine, dropping my hands. She looked like she dearly wanted to make some snarky comment, but glanced at me before the words could come out. 

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

The boisterous elf swallowed and looked away. “So why do you always call her ‘Rose’?” She asked Varric, effectively ignoring Josephine’s endorsement.  “I mean, as far as your nicknames go, it’s kind of obvious, innit?”

The dwarf chortled. “I suppose, but it’s not every day I meet someone carrying a giant rose around on their back.  Are you ever going to tell us the story behind that, Rose?”

We had filed in to the tavern by then, and Bull was loudly ordering drinks for everyone. I smiled, looking at my friends.  

“Sure,” I replied, watching their laughing faces. “It’s a pretty good one.  It involves a drinking contest, selling a stolen goat to a giant, and a spur-of-the-moment engagement to a Hagraven…”

*

I stood by the low stone wall behind the requisitions station, watching the revelers celebrate. Drink had been flowing freely for a few hours, but most of the celebrants were still out and about.  The dancing had spilled out from the tavern, and there was laughter and music everywhere. 

I let it flow around me, lost in my own thoughts. Subconsciously, I’d been hoping that closing the Breach would be something like defeating Alduin—Tsun had sent me home from Sovngarde after my duty was done, after all.  But the Breach was closed, and I was still here in Thedas. 

 _The Breach was an effect though, not the source,_ said a niggling voice in the back of my mind, and I sighed.  It was right—there was still this ‘Elder One’ to deal with.  Then I brightened.  If the Elder One was a dragon, then perhaps all I needed to do to return to Tamriel was slay it.  I could do that.  I was Dragonborn, after all. 

A giggle drew me from my thoughts. A group of young mage girls ran past me, laughing to each other. 

“Ask him!” One urged another. I smiled tolerantly and let my eyes drift closed to listen to the sounds around me.

“Smile, Cassandra! This is a celebration!”  Leliana’s voice came from somewhere behind me, followed by Cassandra’s trademarked grunt.

“Dόra? You’re not celebrating?”

I opened my eyes and turned to see the Seeker looking at me, the Spymaster standing beside her. Leliana had one arm looped through Cassandra’s, pinning the Seeker to her side.

“I celebrated earlier,” I said. “Besides, it’s not over yet.  The Elder One is still out there.”

Cassandra nodded, looking at me consideringly. “Leliana and I were just discussing the same thing,” she mused softly.

The Spymaster’s gaze traveled from me back to her companion, just for a moment. Then she pulled the startled Seeker toward me, and before I knew it, had her other arm looped around my elbow and was towing me along in her wake. 

“If you’re not going to join the festivities,” she declared, “then you will join Cassandra and me for an unofficial war council.”

Cassandra gave a long suffering sigh, rolling her eyes, and I laughed in spite of myself. The Seeker sheepishly joined in, and Leliana smiled at our amusement. 

Then the alarm bells began to sound.

*

We met the others by the palisade gate.

“Forward scouts report a large force,” Cullen relayed. “The bulk of it is over the mountain.”

“What banner do they fly?” Asked Josephine. “Is it Orlais?  Ferelden?”

 _“No,”_ said a soft voice.  It seemed to sound directly inside my head.  _“It’s the Elder One. You took his mages, and he’s angry.  Please, let me in.”_

Without thinking, I stepped forward to release the gate.

“Dόra, what—” Cullen began, just as a boy stepped through the gate.

“Thank you,” the boy gasped. His clothes were ragged, and a large floppy hat covered most of his face.  “He’s come for you.  The Elder One.”

He raised a hand and pointed at a ridge, where the lights of the approaching force were gathering and growing. A misshapen figure was silhouetted there.  A shudder ran through me at the sight of it.

“That doesn’t look like a dragon,” Dorian whispered in my ear.

I waved him off, and eyed our measly fortifications in trepidation. “We need to get the people to safety.”

“There’s no time,” Cullen protested. I could see he was right.  Even now the advance forces of the approaching army were nearing Haven. 

“They’re wearing Templar armor!” Cassandra cried in shock.

“Is this the Order’s response to our allying with the mages?” Cullen gasped. “Siding with the enemy?”

“No,” the boy said. “Templars no longer.  He feeds them, changes them.  They belong to him.  I’m Cole, by the way,” he added, in reply to some unstated question.

“Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, with me,” I barked. “Cullen, we need to defend Haven.  If we don’t stop the bulk of that force from reaching us we’ll be over-run.”

He considered options for a moment, then met my eyes. “The trebuchets,” he breathed.

I nodded, following his train of thought. “We’re on it.”

*

Ragged cheers rose from the defenders as the distant mountainside was buried under snow, waves of the attacking force buried alive by the murderous slide. My small band heaved a collective sigh of relief from where we clustered around the trebuchet.

Our merriment was short-lived. With a deafening roar, a great beast swooped down, and with a word of Dovahzul the trebuchet was engulfed in flame. 

I stared at the dragon in horror. It was a sickly, stunted looking thing, a far cry from the mighty beasts of Skyrim.  I was reminded of Sahrotaar, the serpentine dragon that Miraak had enslaved on Solstheim. 

“Come on, Rose!” Varric urged, appearing at my side and snapping me out of my stupor. Dimly, I heard Cullen shouting for people to take refuge in the Chantry. 

We raced along the palisade, pausing to help the people of Haven when we encountered them. Harritt was throwing tools from his forge into a pack, and Dennet and his stable hands were desperately opening stable doors and corral gates, letting the frantic horses run free. 

“They’re well-trained,” the Horsemaster panted as I helped him fumble with the last gate. “If they survive, they’ll come back to us.  If we survive.”

“We will,” I promised him, urging him toward the palisade gate, where Cullen gestured frantically at us to enter.

“The Chantry is the only building that stands a chance against that—that _thing_ ,” the Commander stated as my squad approached.  “At this point, we just have to make them work for it.”

I opened my mouth to tell him that was unacceptable, but a cry near the gate drew our attention. Some of the Red Templars had breached the palisade wall, and were chasing after the few citizens that remained on Haven’s rough streets.  The Templar woman, Lysette, drew her sword, turning to fight, but it was obvious that she was badly outnumbered.  Cullen and I sprang into action, jumping to her defense. 

“Thank you,” Lysette gasped when we’d slain the last of our opponents. Blood streamed from a rent in her armor, and she sagged against a rock.   

“Let’s get to the Chantry,” Cullen said, helping her to stand.

“You go,” I said. “We’ll look for other survivors.”

He met my eyes for a moment, and nodded. “Just hurry.”

Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric raced along with me through the streets of Haven. We found Flissa trapped beneath a burning beam in the tavern, and just barely managed to free her before the ceiling came down.  I sent Varric with her to the Chantry. 

Adan and Minaeve lay near vats of explosive oil outside the apothecary, crying weakly for help.

“Hurry!” Adan yelled when he spotted us. “The fire—it’s going to ignite!”  Dorian and Cassandra sped to help, but another wave of Templars approached behind us, and I turned to fight them off. 

“No—Minaeve!” I heard Adan cry from behind me. With one swipe I beheaded the last of the Templars and turned, grimacing bitterly when I saw the flames overtake Minaeve and reach the vats, igniting with an explosive burst of flame.  Minaeve’s cries of pain were abruptly silenced as her life fled with the flames. 

“Get to the Chantry,” I ordered, hardening my heart as the village burned around me. The glint of armor through gaps in the palisade wall told me that we were out of time.  Cassandra and Dorian nodded, carrying the prone Adan between them. 

Threnn stood outside the Chantry doors, defending the last stragglers from the village. A small group of Red Templars faced off with her.  I surged forward.

“Get inside,” I shouted to the quartermaster. “I’ve got this.”  I didn’t even look to see if she obeyed, but let my fury throw me into the enemy, battle rage powering my swings.  When they were slain, I turned, looking out at the ruins of Haven. 

The village smoked and smoldered, the metallic smell of blood flavoring the air. I was suddenly reminded strongly of Helgen, after Alduin’s attack.  Shrieks of pain and fear had filled the sky then, but the fire and death was the same. 

“Herald!”

I turned to see Cullen approaching, looking at me as though I was crazy for standing around at a time like this.

“Get inside,” he ordered.

Slowly, I shook my head.

“The Chantry won’t hold forever,” I said. “Especially not against a dragon.  The Elder One wants me, so I think we might as well give him what he wants.”

“Are you crazy? What makes you think he’d spare us even if he killed you?”

“It would give you time, at least,” I argued.

“You just said the Chantry won’t hold forever!”

“There’s a way,” said the shaggy blonde boy, seeming to appear out of nowhere. “Chancellor Roderick wants to tell you, before he dies.”  He led us into the Chantry. 

“A secret pathway, known to me only because I walked the Pilgrim’s Path, on a whim,” Roderick wheezed when we knelt beside him. “It must have been Andraste’s will.”

“Where?” Cullen urged. “How do we reach this path?”

“I will show you,” Cole answered. “But it will take time to get everyone out.”

“They’ll have it,” I said decisively, standing.

Cullen stared up at me, conflicting emotions chasing across his face. “Maybe…you’ll take him by surprise,” he offered, half-heartedly, but sighed as the hollowness of his words sunk in.  “Make that thing hear you,” he advised. 

I grinned, and he looked taken aback. Slinging the Sanguine Rose off of my back, I sent a burst of magicka through the staff, summoning the Dremora from Oblivion.

“I SMELL FEAR!” The creature declared in its ringing voice, before rushing out the doorway to do battle.

“Will do, Commander,” I said, saluting briefly before turning to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl Sanguine's quest in Skyrim is one of my faves, and we finally have relevance for the presence of the Sanguine Rose, besides as a nickname! Woo! 
> 
> In other news, still busy with school stuff so I don't know when the next update will be. But we're almost at Skyhold, and then things will change for Dora...!! Thanks so much for all the great feedback on the last chapter~


	19. Clear Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dόra Miraculously Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter woo!! Next one should be up in a couple of weeks.  
> I tried to do the thing where you can hover over the text with the cursor to see its translation...if its not working, let me know and I'll fiddle with it lol. If you're on mobile and have no cursor, there are translations in the end notes. Enjoy all~

I woke to the sound of harsh breathing and pained groans. I could feel the weight of many blankets atop me, but somehow I was still cold. I rolled onto my side, trying to get comfortable. 

A new chill seeped in when I moved, and the blankets shifted…oddly. I opened my eyes, and abruptly realized the groans I heard were coming from _me_. 

Everything hurt. My muscles ached, my skin felt bruised all over, and my head pounded. What I’d thought were heavy blankets was actually snow, piled on and around me. No wonder I was so cold. 

I covered my face with my hands, trying to remember how I got here.

_The Elder One_ …I remembered slicing through hordes of enemy Templars, Dremora at my side, eventually making my way to the last trebuchet. I remembered the Elder One, a ghastly, misshapen creature the like of which I’d never seen before. He’d told me the mark on my hand was an anchor, that he had intended to use to pass through the Breach into the Fade, and he’d told me that I’d ruined it with my meddling. I remembered the lone arrow arcing high overhead from the valley wall, a tiny prick of brightness in the dark, and I remembered firing the trebuchet, burying Haven in a wall of snow and debris. I remembered running, futilely, from said wall, and then falling, falling, into the cold and dark.

I rolled onto my knees, trying to make out my surroundings. A chamber of some sort beneath Haven…but what, precisely? If I were in Skyrim, I’d have said I’d tumbled into a long-forgotten barrow. Once eyes adjusted to the dim, I could make out sloping walls, covered in ice, forming a long tunnel. I staggered to my feet and began to follow it. 

The tunnel seemed to go on forever. My ribs twinged painfully with every movement, and as closely as I could tell without removing my armor, at least four were broken. The last of my health potions at least ensured that the bones knit back together and stopped any internal bleeding, but the pain was still significant. 

I don’t know how long I heard the roaring before I realized it wasn’t just in my head, side-effect of my injuries. 

Almost indistinguishable from the ice-covered walls, the tunnel entrance loomed before me, a vortex of snow swirling violently in the raging wind. As I grew closer, it seemed to suck all the air from around me, leaving me breathless and shivering despite my Nord hardiness. 

Before I even took two more steps, there was a quiet _pop!_ Green light flashed, a rift spawning between me and the wall of swirling snow. 

I drew my blades, swiping at the nearest demon. It folded like paper around my sword, collapsing into nothing with an angry shriek, but as it did, my left hand began to throb. The pain radiated up my arm, through my whole body, and my head pounded in time. I couldn’t focus on the battle. 

A shard of ice piercing my side made me cry out in pain, momentarily cutting through the Fade magic surging through the Anchor. I turned my gaze to the demon who’d cast it, seeing the creature prepare itself for another spell. My hand lifted of its own accord, focusing on the demon, and with another surge of magic, the rift flared—and then seemed to draw the remaining demons back in, before collapsing on itself as if it’d never existed to begin with.

I slumped to my knees, shocked. What just happened? Was this some side effect of Corypheus’ attempts to remove the mark from my hand? I inspected the Anchor carefully, but it looked the same as it had before, and as soon as the rift was gone, the throbbing pain had begun to fade. 

_Well you can’t do anything about it here, Dόra,_ I chided myself. _Best find the others and see if Solas can shed any light on it._

Staggering back to my feet, I plunged into the driving storm.

*

**“LOK. VAH. KOOR.”**

The storm cleared away in the face of my Thu’um, leaving only the bitter night behind. 

_Divines, how long was I unconscious?_

It had been a clear night when I had launched the trebuchet at the mountain. By the looks of things, the storm had been raging for hours. Everywhere I looked, the snow was alternatively scoured down to old crusty layers and built up into huge drifts. Even the trees were covered in white on one side, a testament to the ferocity of the wind. I saw no landmarks I recognized, or anything to tell me which way to go from here. 

I took a deep breath and summoned the dregs of my magicka, focusing on my goal. _The Inquisition._

Clairvoyance lit the night, shaky and faint, but skating ahead to my right along an invisible path. Then it sputtered out, my magicka depleted. I sighed. Well then, I’d just have to hope I found some evidence of the Inquisition’s passage along the way. 

It was hard going, picking my way between the deep drifts. Traveling in a straight line was almost impossible, but luckily I’d honed a keen sense of direction during my adventures across Skyrim. It wasn’t long before I found the snow-covered remains of a broken wagon, and beyond that, a cold fire-pit. I kept going, determination spurring me forward even as my wounds from Haven reopened, oozing viscous blood down my skin. 

The snow grew deeper, the traces of the Inquisition’s passage fewer and farther between. My wounds were bleeding freely now, but with the state I was in, my magicka wasn’t regenerating at all, and I couldn’t even summon a small healing spell. I doggedly stumbled on, determined I would find the Inquisition before I was in any real danger of bleeding out. 

I don’t know how long I’d walked when the snow came back—tiny flakes drifting down from scattered clouds. The trees had receded, drawing away up the mountainside, and it was obvious that the wind had not been nearly as violent in this part of the range. The drifts had transitioned into a uniform depth, and any traces of mankind were long buried. 

The flakes grew fatter, obscuring my vision. Clear Skies sent them fleeing once again, but still I found no traces of Haven’s population. No signal fires flickered anywhere in my field of view, and even dawn refused to stain the sky. The night dragged on, and I stubbornly dragged myself on with it. 

Finally, I stumbled to a halt. The snow was waist-deep now, every step an ordeal as I sank to my hips. I could no longer feel the blood trickling from my wounds, but whether that meant it had stopped or I was just too numb to feel it, I didn’t know, though the fatigue I felt had me suspecting the latter. 

_I need help._

I struggled forward another step. 

_Snow’s too deep…I can’t keep going…_

Had I lost the Inquisition’s trail? Was I even going the right way?

_If only I could see, from up high…_

If I could fly, I could escape the deep snow, and soar above the mountain to find the Inquisition with ease. If I could fly…

**“OD. AH. VIING!”**

Panting, I waited. Would he even be able to come to me, from Tamriel? I didn’t really know how I’d gotten to Thedas. Would my Thu’um even carry across realms? 

_If he can hear me, he will come._

And so I waited. 

I strained to hear approaching wingbeats, but the only sound in the muffled landscape was my harsh breathing. 

Still I waited.

_Is it my imagination, or is the sky actually getting a bit lighter? Perhaps dawn is on its way after all._

A sob tore from my chest as I realized I could wait no longer. Odahviing wasn’t coming. After all, I wasn’t in Tamriel anymore. 

Panic, the need for survival, gripped me, and I stumbled forward a few more steps, scrabbling through the snow, before collapsing once more. 

_Is this the end of the mighty Dragonborn? Lost and bleeding to death on a frozen mountain in some strange land?_

Does the world always seem to tremble so, when you’re dying? And that rumble…it almost sounded like the confused grumble of a dragon.

“WHAT IS THIS PLACE, THURI? IT IS NOT TAAZOKAAN.”

I lifted my head, trying to focus my eyes. A gust of warm air washed over me, accompanied by a snort. The dragon’s massive snout nuzzled me, surprisingly gentle. 

“SARAAN UTH, DOVAHKIIN. NIID MORO…THERE IS NO GLORY IN A DEATH LIKE THIS.”

“Fahdoni,” I croaked, bracing myself on his nose as he lifted me to my feet. “I have…friends, somewhere in these mountains. If we find their encampment…”

“NII TINVAAK. LET US FLY, THURI.”

I clambered up Odahviing’s back with difficulty, but he waited patiently until I was settled, without even making a degrading comment as I had come to expect from the dragon. 

I was right, I realized once we were airborn. From this height, I could see the fingers of dawn peeking over the horizon. Against all the odds, I had lived to see another day. 

“I SEE FIRES, DOVAHKIIN,” Odahviing’s voice rumbled to me. “NI POGAAN. DO WE INVESTIGATE?”

“Yes.”

We circled lower, and I could hear screams of alarm and fear. 

_Oh no. They probably think I’m Corypheus…_

“MEY JOORRE. THEY PREPARE TO ATTACK, THURI.”

“I just need to be close enough,” I whispered, and the dragon obediently landed, jarring me from head to toe. 

“Archers, at the ready!” Relief washed through me as I heard Cullen’s distinct voice. 

“Wait!” I cried out, attempting to climb down from my perch. The attempt was futile—I tumbled from Odahviing’s back, falling face-first into the snow. 

“Herald?” Cassandra’s voice sounded incredulous. 

“Hold your fire!” Cullen barked, and behind me, I felt the downdraft as Odahviing took to the sky once more, before the world faded into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun...!!
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
> Thuri = My lord  
> Taazokaan = Tamriel  
> Saraan uth = I await your command  
> Niid moro = No glory  
> Fahdoni = My friend  
> Ni tinvaak = Don't speak  
> Ni pogaan = Not many  
> Mey joorre = Fool mortals
> 
> Dovahzuul created from the UESP dragon language page and thuum.org, which is a flippin' amazing site. Thanks for reading!


	20. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the Inquisition Makes Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for all the dialogue in the next couple chapters…hopefully it’s not so much it gets boring. Also, apologies for the overuse of ellipses…pun (does it still count as a pun when it’s a punctuation symbol?) not intended

It was night again when I finally awoke. I was in a small tent, swathed in bandages and furs. Voices were raised outside in anger. 

“The Inquisition works because it is not beholden to any sovereign nation. You can’t have us throw that away and expect to be able to fulfill our purpose.” I recognized Cullen’s voice.

“We need the goodwill of our neighbors right now,” Cassandra said crossly. “We’ve lost almost everything we had.”

“And who put you in charge?” Cullen roared. “We need a consensus!”

Josie cut across Cassandra’s spluttered reply. “Please, Cullen, see reason. We’re hobbled without the infrastructure of the Inquisition. We must seek ways to rebuild.”

“We can’t build it purely from charity!”

“She didn’t say we could, Cullen,” Leliana cut in. “If you’d get your head out—”

“Enough!” Cassandra cut the Spymaster off. “This is getting us nowhere.”

I inhaled sharply as I tried to get up, my aching muscles protesting the movement. 

“You need to rest, child,” scolded Mother Giselle from where she sat near my head. I hadn’t even noticed her presence. “Your injuries were severe, and you are not yet fully healed.”

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” she answered. “The Elder One destroyed Haven three nights ago.”

“We can’t afford to sit here any longer, then,” I decided, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “We can’t give him a chance to find us while we’re defenseless.”

“So you will go out there and join the argument? What will that accomplish?”

I stared at her helplessly. “But they’re wasting precious time.”

“You gave them that luxury,” she replied. “Time to waste, on worry, and doubt, and blame. But will your voice alone make them see reason?”

“Don’t I owe it to everyone who survived to try?”

“Don’t you owe it to them to be the Herald they believe you to be?” She countered. “You fell from the Breach, seemingly with Andraste’s own blessing. You were our one hope, and you closed the Breach. Then you stood against the Elder One…and you fell. Now, you are returned to us.”

“It’s not like I came back from the dead. I just…survived.”

“The Maker works both in the moment, and in how the moment is remembered,” Giselle lectured. “The more time passes, the more miraculous your survival seems. To see their Herald, come back from the dead, engage in harsh words like the Inquisition’s leaders are now? What hope are the people to draw from that?”

I considered her words for a moment. I could see what she was driving at, but still…

“I wasn’t sent by Andraste, and I don’t worship your Maker. I don’t know how I ended up here, or why, but I do know that the Elder One threatens us all, and arguing about where to go from here will kill us as surely as he will.”

Pushing past her outstretched hand, I gathered one of the blankets around me and ducked under the tent flap. 

The argument had subsided while I’d talked with Mother Giselle. Josephine sat on a bench near the fire, looking near to tears. Leliana sat at her feet, speaking in soothing tones. Cassandra was bent over a raggedy map, fuming silently. And Cullen paced on the far side of the circle of tents, kicking furiously at the snow. 

Josie saw me first. 

“Dόra!” She exclaimed, causing Leliana to snap her head in my direction. The relief on both of their faces was astonishing.

I opened my mouth, but words failed me.

In place of my silence, a mellow voice rose up behind me. I turned to see that Mother Giselle had emerged from the tent, and was singing. 

The song was a hymn of some sort, by the sound of it, and by the second verse Leliana and Cassandra had joined in. Others began to add their voices, and the sound swelled, echoing across the mountains. 

One by one, the Inquisition gathered around me, some dropping to their knees, others crossing arms over their chest in salute. Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine moved through the crowd until they were directly before me, all with smiles in their eyes if not on their lips. Cullen hovered on the edges, looking solemn but still singing with the rest. 

I didn’t see who first started the cheer when the song ended. 

“Hail, Herald!”

The chant rose joyfully to the stars. I turned to look at Mother Giselle. She was smiling—almost smirking—at me. 

“You cannot change how they see you,” she told me softly. “But we can discuss it more another time. Come, back inside where it’s warm.”

With one last look at the smiling crowd, I followed the cleric into the tent.

*

The sun was already past its highest point when I awoke the following day. I felt refreshed and alert. My body still ached, but I was healing. 

“Good, you’re awake,” said Cassandra. She was sitting in the chair Mother Giselle had occupied before. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” I replied. 

“I’m glad,” she said warmly. Then she hesitated. 

“Cassandra,” I prompted gently, “I want to help, in any way that I can.”

Her laugh rang through the tent, wry but joyful. “Am I really that obvious? No, don’t answer that. But, Leliana, Josie, Cullen, and I do wish to speak to you, if you’re feeling well enough for it.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

In short order the advisors had gathered. The tent was a bit cramped with the four of them seated around my bed. 

Cullen was the first to speak. “Herald—Dόra—I owe you an apology. I disagreed with some of your actions, and allowed that to color my opinion of you as a person and as a leader. I should have seen that despite everything, you are a noble woman, willing to sacrifice yourself so others might live, and I regret that the majority of our interactions have been so strained.”

“Why, thank you, Cullen,” I said, surprised. “I appreciate that.”

“I think your near-death brought things into perspective for many of us,” Leliana said, smoothing over the awkward silence. “In fact, that brings us to why we are here. We wish to discuss your encounter with the Elder One, if you learned anything about him, and also…how you survived.”

“Luck, mostly,” I said wryly, and their chuckles dispelled the last of the tension in the small space. “But I’ll start from the beginning.”

I told them of the Elder One, the mutated human-like creature that called itself Corypheus, and his declaration that he had seen the Golden City, and that he would sit on the throne of god.

“He said the mark was supposed to be an anchor, somehow tied to his entry to the Fade. He tried to remove it from my hand, but couldn’t. He said I’d spoiled it with my tampering. And…it behaved strangely, afterward.”

“Perhaps Solas could shed some light on this,” Cassandra mused, looking thoughtfully at Leliana. The Spymaster nodded in response. 

“I’ll go fetch him,” Josephine offered, slipping out of the tent. 

Cullen cleared his throat while we waited. “So this Elder One, this Corypheus…is he claiming to be one of the original Magisters, the reason for the darkspawn?”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Leliana murmured. “I will speak to my contacts, see if I can learn anything.”

Josephine returned then, Solas in tow, and I went over my encounter with Corypheus once more. When I was finished, this time describing my encounter with the rift in the tunnels and the strange behavior of the mark on my hand, he stared thoughtfully off into the distance between us. 

“I have some theories,” he said finally. “Just give me some time to think them through. The Anchor isn’t hurting you at all, is it?”

“Only when the rift opened and it did…whatever it did,” I told him. 

“Good, good. Is there anything else you need me for at the moment?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Cassandra said. “Thank you, Solas. Now, we need to decide where to take the Inquisition from here.”

“I may have an idea on that front, as well,” the elf offered. “Again, though, I will need time to pursue it.”

“You have seen a place in the Fade?” Leliana asked, ever shrewd. 

“It is possible,” Solas hedged. “I suggest we don’t rely solely on it until I have more information, however.”

“Then we will discuss alternatives,” Cullen announced decisively. 

Solas left, and to my surprise, the advisors settled in to bounce ideas around, apparently welcoming my input.

*

It was after dark by the time we adjourned. 

“Thank you, Dόra,” Leliana said as the four climbed to their feet. “I hope we haven’t worn you out too much.”

“No, I still feel fine,” I assured her. “Hungry, is all.”

“I’ll have someone send some food in,” Josephine promised. 

“I have a different idea,” Cullen said, stopping the Ambassador before she could rush out of the tent. “Dόra, you really feel fine?”

“Yes,” I replied, confused. “What did you have in mind?”

“It would boost morale significantly if the people of the Inquisition could see you,” he explained. “If you come eat outside…” He trailed off.

“An excellent idea, Cullen,” Leliana commended. “What do you say, Dόra?”

I thought about my conversation with Mother Giselle, her admonishment that the people saw me as a holy icon, and that I could best serve the Inquistion by living up to their expectations. It seemed the advisors agreed.

“Who am I to say no to the people?” I joked wryly, and followed them outside. 

*

“I think I may have underestimated how many people would want to talk to you,” Cullen muttered to me as we were stopped for at least the tenth time since setting foot outside my tent. It seemed everyone who saw me wanted to shake my hand, thank me for my actions at Haven, and wish my well. My escort of four and I were hailed at seemingly every other step. 

“Morale, Commander,” I reminded him, and he huffed out a sigh.

“Should I implement some form of queue? A number system, that we can interrupt if Dόra gets too tired?” Josephine asked, fretting as we paused for yet another well-wisher.

“No, this is fine, Josie,” I assured her. “I’ll let one of you know if I’m getting worn out. In the meantime, I doubt I need all four of you to accompany me across camp.”

“Actually, a show of unity is probably for the best,” Leliana interjected. “It’s not a secret that there were tensions between us before sealing the Breach, and our arguments since Haven have not gone unnoticed either.” 

Cullen laughed ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “My arguments with everyone else, you mean.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it in so many words,” Leliana replied playfully.

We finally reached one of the campfires spread throughout camp, and Josie and Cassandra quickly ladled stew out of the pot hanging over it into bowls for everyone. 

“There are a couple things that have been bothering me that we didn’t discuss today, Dόra,” Cullen said, passing me some hard-crusted bread. 

“What’s that?” I asked.

“One is the matter of your arrival at our camp. The dragon.”

Odahviing. I’m almost forgotten that I’d summoned him. 

“Er…yes. He helps me out sometimes, in Tamriel…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. Now would be a good time to come clean with them, tell them about my status as Dragonborn—but I was reluctant to reveal the truth, for some reason.

_Hording secrets, the way you horded titles and wealth in Skyrim,_ hissed the voice of my subconscious. _Always so hesitant to trust anyone fully…_

“So, how did it get here?” Cullen asked, understandably confused. “You cast a summoning spell, or something?”

“Yes,” I answered, against my better judgement. Secrets can only be revealed once, after all—better they remain secret for now. “It was a desperate attempt, I’ll admit. I wasn’t even sure if he could respond to my summons here. Where did he go, by the way?”

“It…ah, he…flew off to the mountains after dropping you off,” Josie answered. “We’ve seen him a few times since then, flying over camp and roaring.”

I nodded. “I’ll have to talk to him. I wonder if he’s stuck here, now? I hope not…” Now that I thought of it, it seemed very likely. I stared into the fire, brooding anew over how I’d come to Thedas and how I could get back home.

Leliana cleared her throat. “Cullen, you mentioned two things you wanted to ask Dόra about?”

I shook my head and drew my attention back to the conversation. 

Cullen looked uncomfortable. “Well, uh, there’s that…thing…you summoned, before leaving the Chantry in Haven.”

“Oh, the Dremora.”

“The what?”

“Dremora. Um…it’s a type of Daedra, basically…though that probably doesn’t help at all.”

“Not really, no,” he said. “It…well, it looked like a demon.”

“I did not see it, but from Cullen’s description, it very much sounds like a demon,” Cassandra added. 

“That’s probably a fairly apt comparison, actually,” I admitted. “Though with the enchantment on the Sanguine Rose—that’s the name of the staff—the Dremora can only fight the enemies of its holder. But there are similarities. Daedra dwell in the planes of Oblivion, and are usually malicious toward mortals. They can’t possess people, though.”

“I…see,” Cullen mumbled, staring into his stew as though it might reach out and bite him. 

“But your Dremora friend is no danger to us or you?” Leliana clarified. I nodded. 

“That’s…good enough for me,” Cullen decided.

Cassandra snorted, unconvinced.

“Be nice, Cassandra,” Leliana chided. “He’s trying.”

“Ugh,” Cullen grumbled, burying his red face in his hands.

*

It was quite late when Solas approached, looking unusually stern. “A word, if I may?” He asked, and moved away without even waiting for a response. 

I met Leliana’s eyes over the fire. Her eyebrows were raised in interest, and with a nod, she indicated I should follow the elf. 

He led me beyond the Inquisition’s camp, to a ridge overlooking the valley below. The snow here was nearly untouched, and Solas walked lightly, seeming to float over the ground. A pronged black iron torch protruded from the ground, blossoming into veilfire with a wave of Solas’ hand. 

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to be overheard?” I asked as he turned to face me.

“Apologies if I alarmed you in any fashion,” he said, cocking his head to the side and looking at me peculiarly. “But you are correct—I would like what I say here to be kept between us for the time being.”

“Is this about the mark?”

“Indirectly, yes. It’s about the artifact you described.”

“The orb that Corypheus carried?”

“Yes. It is what he used to create the Breach, and I would surmise that unlocking it caused the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And…it is Elven.”

“Elven? So do you have any knowledge that can help us?”

He chuckled. “I am hardly the epitome of knowledge regarding all things Elven. Much has been lost over the centuries since the fall of Arlathan. But I have seen memories of such things in the Fade.”

“So what is it, exactly? Is there any way we can disable it?”

“That, I do not know, but I do not think it would be wise to try. As for what it is—it is a foci, used to channel ancient magicks.”

“How did Corypheus end up with it?”

“The Tevinter Empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people. It is possible that Corypheus himself believes the orb to be of Tevinter.”

I hummed as I thought. “So why the secrecy?”

He stared at me before laughing. “Sometimes I forget you are not of Thedas. My people are not held in high regard. Mankind looks down on us, seeing us good only as servants or slaves. The reaction when people discover the orb’s origin could be…incendiary.”

Now that he mentioned it, the only elves other than Solas in the Inquisition were servants, or occasionally mages…and I’d witnessed harsh words and names being spoken to them by the humans in the group. With a jolt, I realized that I was so accustomed to most Nord’s hatred of elves that I hadn’t even given it a second thought, despite my admonishments to Ulfric about his treatment of other races. I looked at Solas with guilty eyes. 

“I will not let them harm you, or any other elf, due to some perceived blame over the Breach,” I vowed. 

“While I appreciate the sentiment, it is unnecessary,” he replied. “Keeping the orb’s origin between us until I have more information is all I ask.”

“I will not mention your suspicions to anyone. Is that all you have right now?” I asked. 

“No, actually,” he said. “I believe I know of a place for the Inquisition to call home.”

*

The advisors were understandably excited when we told them Solas’ news. A fortress, lost to time, somewhere to the north. 

“‘North’ is a wide area to explore,” Cullen said, tracing a circle over the map with his finger. “Are you sure you can’t be a bit more precise?”

“I will know more the closer we get,” Solas declared. “The spirits of the Fade will guide me.”

“It’s all relative anyway, since we don’t even know where we are right now,” Josephine interjected hurriedly, seeing the look of uncertainty on Cullen’s face. 

“I will organize my scouts,” Leliana announced. “If anyone can find this place, they can.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Solas told her. “Dόra and I can find it with no trouble.”

“Dόra? But she is still recovering!” Cassandra exclaimed. 

“Who better to lead the Inquisition to its salvation than the Herald of Andraste?” Solas countered. 

I sighed. I had largely ignored the ‘Herald of Andraste’ business before the Breach, but now everyone was making it impossible. 

“That is a good point,” Leliana mused. “What do you think, Dόra? Are you healed enough? The snow and cold will likely just get worse the farther north we go, so you need to be in top shape.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure I’m fine. Plus, Nords are resistant to cold weather.” Then I grinned. “Not to mention, I have a dragon.”

“Ah…yes, that is an advantage my scouts do not have.”

“Not to be a naysayer,” Josephine said tentatively, “but if this place has fallen into disrepair, we’ll need people and materials to make it livable.”

“I will send out my ravens at dawn, arrange supplies,” Leliana replied. “We can call in favors with nobles we have a good relationship with.”

Cullen sighed. 

“Don’t start,” Cassandra murmured to him, and he gave her a black look, followed by a wry smile.

“I will try not to disrupt the peace, Cassandra,” he promised. She laughed.

Leliana smiled as the merriment spread around our makeshift war table. “I think that is something we can all agree to strive for. And look—it’s a new day.” 

I turned to follow Leliana’s gaze. The high peak above us was silhouetted in bright light. I had been so caught up in our planning that I hadn’t even noticed the lightening of the sky. We all turned to face the mountain, smiling as rays of sunlight sparkled like a crown over the peak, the snow glittering as the dancing rays fell upon it. The sun rose higher and higher, lifting our spirits and hopes with it. Finally, the light reached our camp, spilling across the war table and our expectant faces—

And burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t think Dora was in the clear yet, did you? Hehe…  
> You might have noticed that I took some liberties in this chapter regarding the timeline…I know the Haven citizens didn’t camp out in the snow, trying to stay hidden from Corypheus, with no plan, for four days...but I wanted to set up the vampirism thing so just roll with it lol. Also I fiddled with the advisor’s argument before reaching Skyhold. I don’t really know what they were arguing about in game, but it made sense to me that they would discuss seeking sanctuary from Ferelden or Orlais, and that it might be a point of contention. Cullen sort of ended up being the one who argued against everything…I’m so sorry Cully-Wully, I didn’t start this fic with the intent to paint you as such a villain T_T


	21. The Nature of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Suspicions are Formed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to post another chapter for October~

They watched in horror as Haldόra screamed, clawing her face where the sun struck her skin. The flesh reddened and blistered, and she fell to the snow-covered earth. Soldiers and mages bolted upright from their bedrolls, fumbling for sword and staff in blind panic. The hair on the back of Solas’ neck rose as he realized the potential for things to get ugly. 

“Quickly,” he hissed at the advisors, leaping forward to lift Dόra from the snow. “We must get her back to her tent.”

Cassandra jumped to his side, ready to assist, and Cullen immediately began issuing reassurances to the frightened people, calming them. 

It took no time at all to make their way across the camp, back to the Herald’s tent. Josephine rushed forward to lift the flap, and Leliana issued quiet orders to a few of her agents who had gathered when the ruckus began. 

“No one but the four of us and Commander Cullen is to come anywhere near this tent until I say so,” she ordered. 

Dόra’s breathing was labored as Solas and Cassandra laid her on the makeshift bed. Her skin was pale as moonlight where it hadn’t been exposed to the sun, and her yellowish-red eyes were glowing eerily under narrowed lids. She looked, Solas reflected, utterly grotesque. 

“Potion,” she panted, gripping the elf’s arm desperately. “In pack.”

He hurried to the corner where her belongings were piled, rummaging through them until he found a bulbous bottle filled with a menacing red liquid. Hesitantly, he carried it to where Haldόra lay. 

Grasping fingers pulled the potion from his hands, and the Nord gulped it down greedily. Solas and the others watched in awe as Dόra’s breathing evened out, the blisters faded from her face, and her sallow cheeks filled out. With a relieved sigh, the bottle dropped from her fingers, and she fell into the deep sleep of healing. 

“Is she alright?” Asked Cullen, and Solas startled, having not noticed the Commander’s entrance. 

“She seems much better,” Cassandra replied, cautiously smoothing a hand over the sleeping Herald’s hair. “But what happened? She was burned…by the sun?”

“She is still recovering from her exposure after Haven,” Josephine mused. “Perhaps it is possible that her skin was sensitive from frostbite?”

“Enough to blister, though?” Leliana scoffed. 

Josephine frowned, having no response. 

“She said her mark had changed,” Cassandra interjected. “Perhaps this is something that Corypheus did.”

Solas bent down to retrieve the fallen bottle, expecting the astringent scent of elfroot. Instead, the remaining potion staining the interior of the bottle exuded a metallic, earthy scent. He wrinkled his nose as he examined the viscous red drops clinging to the rim. It couldn’t possibly be…

Cassandra must have seen his expression, and interpreted it correctly. 

“It is blood,” she verified. 

Solas looked at her sharply. “What did you say?”

“I said it is blood, in the potion. Dόra said it’s some kind of creature in her homeland, and its blood has medicinal properties. We asked her about it after the first attempt on the Breach.”

“We have seen no evidence that Dόra practices anything akin to blood magic,” Leliana answered, looking at him shrewdly. He met her eyes, unsure how to interpret her glance. Was the Spymaster unconvinced of Haldόra’s honesty?

The elf returned his gaze to the empty potion bottle, troubled. “Nor have I,” he mused, and the answer seemed to satisfy Leliana, for she turned away and began ushering the others away Dόra’s bed. 

“In any case,” she said, “we need to make sure she gets her rest and is well enough to scout for us. Even if she’s not, I think we have stayed in once place long enough.”

“I agree,” Cullen noted. “We’ve been here too long as it is. I’ll give orders for everyone to prepare to march at dawn.” 

The Commander strode out of the tent, Josephine hurrying after him, pausing only long enough to speak briefly. “I will begin arranging things as well. We will need to let our allies know that we did not perish with Haven, and that we still strive to defeat this evil. And please, let me know when Dόra awakes? I wish to make sure she is alright.”

Leliana nodded absently as the Ambassador took her leave. “We have many preparations to make as well, Cassandra,” she said to the Seeker. “Solas, will you stay with our Herald? If this mysterious illness is related to the Anchor, you are best qualified to monitor her health.”

“Of course,” he responded, though he knew that whatever had happened, it was not related to the mark on Dόra’s hand. No, if this ailment was a recent acquirement, she wouldn’t have had a potion from her homeland to treat it so efficiently. 

Still holding the empty bottle, he sank into the chair as the two humans shuffled out of the tent. After a brief hesitation, he raised the bottle to his lips and swiped his tongue over a few of the remaining droplets. Yes, it was most definitely blood, though of what nature he couldn’t be sure. An icy undertone to the taste suggested some additional ingredient—an herb of some sort, perhaps? Finally, Solas re-corked the bottle, turning his gaze back to the sleeping woman. 

“Herald of Andraste…how will your secrets impact this Inquisiton, I wonder?”

*

I’d left camp shortly after dawn. To my relief, the chaos of breaking down camp had prevented anyone from asking much about my collapse the previous morning, though Solas had watched me closely. 

“Are you certain you’re alright, Dόra?” Josephine asked anxiously as I dressed myself in warm furs. 

“Yes, Josie,” I laughed. “Though I appreciate your concern. But I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Well, alright,” she reluctantly agreed, and I began the hike up the mountainside where I’d been told Odahviing was last seen. 

I was halfway up the slope by the time Odahviing finally became curious enough to fly down to investigate. 

“ARE YOU COMING TO SEE ME, MY LORD?” He asked, settling himself into the snow before me, seemingly unconcerned that his landing had blown a heap of fine powder in my face. I shook my cowl out ruefully. 

“Yes, my friend,” I replied. “I would like to fly, if you are willing.”

“OF COURSE,” he rumbled. “BUT WHY DO YOU NOT CALL ME?”

“It’s a long story,” I replied. “Let us fly, and I will tell you.”

Now I perched on a sun-warmed rock, arms loosely wrapped around my knees, watching Odahviing gulp down strips of meat torn from the carcass of a ram. We had taken the beast down from the air, a brief stop in our scouting expedition. It had been exhilarating, gripping the dragon with my legs as he’d plummeted abruptly out of cruising altitude, using his momentum to drop the full force of his body on the unsuspecting ram and breaking its back instantly. 

“I AM…HMM…TROUBLED, BY THIS ENEMY,” Odahviing rumbled. “IS HIS THU’UM SO MUCH STRONGER THAN YOURS?”

“He is strong,” I replied, vaguely insulted, “but are you suggesting he could be another Dragonborn?”

“HE ENSLAVES A DRAGON. EVEN ALDUIN WAS DEFEATED BY YOUR THU’UM.” 

“Well I don’t even know if the dragons here speak Dovahzul, but if they do I’m sure I can wrest Corypheus’ dragon away from him,” I said, vexed. Alduin was no match for my Thu’um, nor was Miraak. Corypheus and whatever powers he gained from the red lyrium wouldn’t be either. 

Odahviing cocked his head at me, meal forgotten for the moment. “THU’UM IS THE ESSENCE OF DRAGONKIND.” 

“The Elder One’s dragon…it’s different. Like it only knows a few words of power, and its will is entirely controlled by Corypheus…”

_I’d finally armed the trebuchet, fighting off wave after wave of attackers while trying to crank the massive arm back. Just as I was preparing to fire the huge machine, the enemy dragon flew in, breathing out a gout of flame that knocked me back, flames beating hot against my weak ward._

__

__

_Through the flames strode the creature, the Elder One. He stood at twice my height, malformed and hideous. Crystals of red lyrium seemed to grow from his skin, merging with exposed muscle and sinew. As I scrabbled to face him, the dragon landed behind me, snarling. It too was embedded with red lyrium._

__

__

_“ Greetings, dragon,” I said cautiously, but the beast did not respond, merely growling and spitting a single word: yol, though the syllable was as mangled as the creature’s body, sounding more like a single breathy ‘o’. The resulting flame tore a hole in the palisade wall behind me. _

__

__

_“Enough,” snapped the Elder One, and the dragon bowed its head low and retreated, backing away subserviently. I cringed to see a dragon debase itself so._

_“Pretender,” the Elder One sneered. “You have toyed with forces you don’t understand long enough. Prepare for your end.”_

_“I don’t fear you, creature,” I replied coldly, brandishing my swords._

_He barked out a mirthless laugh. “Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Yet they are always lies. You think yourself a match for me? I am the Elder One! I am Corypheus! You will kneel before me, worm!”_

_“I will not,” I said defiantly._

_“Resistance will get you nowhere,” the creature declared arrogantly, revealing a strange orb that looked absurdly small in his clawed hand. It looked akin to some of the Daedric artifacts I’d seen, and I could see green magic like that of the Breach flickering weakly, battling against the sickly red flames that smothered it. “You may think yourself above your peers—I sense something more in you than in the other cretins of this time, but you will still fall.”_

Odahviing was lashing his tail in aggravation, drawing me out of the memory. “YOU DID NOT ASSERT YOUR STRENGTH? HAVE YOU BEGUN FOLLOWING PAARTHURNAX’S WAY?”

“No. I just…I don’t want to reveal the Thu’um here. To these people. They might react badly.”

He snorted, a hot breath of sulfur- and carrion-scented steam washing over me. “HMM…FOOLISH. WHERE IS THE WISDOM IN HIDING YOUR POWER? REVEAL YOUR MIGHT, AND ALL WILL BOW.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want to happen!”

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. YOU DENY YOUR NATURE, YET YOU DO NOT FOLLOW THE WAY OF THE VOICE.”

“I’m not denying it, really,” I tried to explain. 

“RUTH STRUN BAH,” he exclaimed. “YOU ARE MORTAL IN FLESH, YES, BUT A DRAGON WITHIN. THE BLOOD OF THE DRAGON IS STRONG. THE ESSENCE OF A DRAGON IS…HMM…POWER. DOMINATION.”

“But I don’t want power!”

“NO? HOW MANY TITLES DO YOU HOLD IN SKYRIM? HOW MANY TERRIBLE ENEMIES HAVE YOU DEFEATED?”

“That was…just an accident of fate, really…”

“NO. DRAGONBORN IS FATE. THE REST, YOUR NATURE.” He stood, shaking himself, the ram reduced to a gory bundle of bones. “MY HUNGER HAS ENDED. SHALL WE FLY?”

“Wait,” I protested, though it seemed Odahviing considered the conversation finished. “I wanted to ask you how you got to Thedas.”

“HMM. A PORTAL, ON THE THROAT OF THE WORLD. I FELT IT…HMM…CALLING.”

“So you went through it?”

“YES. THEN I WAS HERE. WHAT OF YOU, MY LORD?” 

“I don’t remember,” I said in frustration. “The last thing I remember in Skyrim was leaving Windhelm, on my way to Riften. No matter how hard I try, I can’t remember anything after that.”

“TIME FLOWS ONWARD,” Odahviing replied. “WE ARE HERE NOW. FATE IS SLIPPERY.”

I sighed. “So we are.”

*

I trekked through the snow, back toward the Inquisition. Odahviing had dropped me off in a large clearing that would make a good campsite, before taking off and flying over the Haven survivors, roaring dramatically. I shook my head. The dragon had grumbled when I’d told him I wanted to dismount out of sight. He seemed almost to take insult at my reluctance to boast of his presence.

Dorian was at the forefront of the group. He wiggled his fingers in a small wave as I fell in beside him. 

“Any luck?”

“No sign of this fortress yet, but we did scout out the easiest pass through the mountains,” I reported. 

“Well that’s something,” he said. “I hope it doesn’t take us very long to get there. Wading through snow drifts in the middle of nowhere is not my idea of a great time.”

I shrugged. “Solas will probably have a better idea than I.”

“Indeed. Brace yourself, by the way.”

“Brace myself?” I looked at him quizzically, but he stared straight ahead. 

Something large and solid bowled into me from the side, lifting me off my feet and sending Dorian sprawling. 

“Boss!” The Iron Bull boomed, hoisting me into the air. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a pet dragon?” 

“Uh…he’s not really a pet,” I said, dumbfounded by the sudden attack. I glanced at Dorian, who was scowling at Bull from the ground, covered in snow. He rolled his eyes as he met my gaze. 

“Okay,” Bull agreed amiably, “but you have a _dragon_. This is very important information and I’m insulted that you didn’t share it with me.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.”

He huffed out a breath and finally set me back on my feet. “I’ll forgive you on one condition: tell me _everything_ about dragons.”

Dorian let out a very inelegant snort. Bull turned to glare at him and then blinked, apparently unaware that he’d knocked the mage over in his exuberance earlier. 

“Sorry about that, ‘Vint,” he said gruffly. “Here.” He held out a hand.

Dorian glared at the offered appendage, but after a tense moment, took it and begrudgingly let the merc leader haul him out of the snow.

“Thank you,” he muttered. 

I glanced between them, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem to be getting along well.”

Dorian shot me a surly look. “It’s called common courtesy, darling.”

“Temporary truce,” Bull added. “Thought it’d be best to keep the peace. But that’s not important, Boss.”

“It’s not?” 

“No. What’s important is the _dragon_.”

I laughed, and even Dorian let out a rueful chuckle. 

“The qunari may have a one-track mind, yes, but I confess to being curious about your not-pet dragon myself,” he noted. “Is summoning such a creature a common use of magic in your homeland?” 

“No, not really,” I replied honestly, and he gave me a shrewd look. I stared back impassively. 

“Oh, we heard about your collapse yesterday,” Bull said, oblivious to the exchange. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “That was…I’m sure it was just a side-effect of my earlier injuries, and it won’t happen again.”

His one eye stared me down, unconvinced. 

Dorian coughed delicately. “Yes, well, I believe our delightful Spymaster thinks you have some illness you’ve never told us about. She’s been asking around, talking to those of us who have accompanied you on missions.”

“She asked me earlier if you’ve ever collapsed before, or had any sort of reaction to sunlight,” Bull agreed. 

A pang of dread shot through me. “I see,” I replied carefully. “I’ll be sure to talk to her, clear things up.”

“Good, good,” Bull said. “And in the meantime: dragons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just an fyi, I’m writing this fic for NaNoWriMo this year! The good news is that I’ll be writing (hopefully) regularly for the next month; the bad news is that I won’t be proofreading much so updates may be sporadic. My goal is to at least keep up with my every-other-week schedule, though. If you want to be writing buddies, or just check on my progress ~~and yell at me when I fall behind~~ you can find me [here](https://nanowrimo.org/participants/fireshark)
> 
> The only translation that I didn't include in text here was 'ruth strun bah', an expression of frustration (also can be anger or hate) that literally means 'rage storm wrath'  
> Other translations that might seem odd in text:  
> Tiid bo amativ = time flows onward, an expression of moving past something  
> Dez motmahus = fate is slippery, an expression of not knowing what the future holds  
> Drem yol lok = an expression of greeting, literally 'peace fire sky'
> 
> As before, thuum.org was my primary resource for the dragon language, with a bit filled in from the UESP~ Thanks for reading!


	22. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Our Trek Through the Snow Comes to an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for being MIA for so long! November was crazy (I only made it to 20k words on this for NaNo). Then last week I moved into a new place, and now I’m at family’s for the holiday but there’s no WiFi here, so yeah. I also really struggled with this chapter, it just feels kinda dull no matter what I do to it. Hopefully a lot of that is that I’ve gone over it so many times though haha

The evening passed quickly, with the Iron Bull pestering me merciless about dragons, and my other friends full of questions about the final confrontation at Haven. Our conversation became boisterous, even rowdy, as the night dragged on. 

Through it all, I noticed Leliana watching me with calculating eyes. She prowled the edges of the firelight, always seeming to be engaged in some inconspicuous action—talking to Josephine or her scouts, composing letters to send out by raven—but her eyes always drifted back to me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to shake her suspicions. 

I was ruminating on the situation as I sat astride Odahviing, late the following day. We soared gracefully above the valleys, the world silent and peaceful from our high vantage. Up here, there was no sign of war, or death, or treachery. Up here, there was only the joy of flight. 

“SEE THERE, MY LORD,” Odahviing rumbled, and I looked ahead just as we rounded a snowy peak. My jaw dropped. 

The fortress was enormous. High stone walls glowed in the warm light of the setting sun, great towers reaching toward the heavens. The keep seemed an extension of the mountain itself, otherworldly in its solitude and ancient grandeur. 

“This must be Skyhold,” I said finally, as we drew closer. 

“A GRAND FORTRESS,” the dragon remarked, and I nodded dumbly. 

“It’s certainly a step up from what we had.”

Haven had been a small village turned military outpost, with measly fortifications, but this? The keep itself resembled Fort Dawnguard, a sentinel of heavy stone strong enough to withstand the ravages of time. The approach reminded me of the College of Winterhold, a long bridge spanning a gaping chasm with a sliver of icy blue glacier visible far below. Even the mountains themselves would prove challenging to an army of any size. Yes, this was a place we could defend, that could withstand immense sieges. Corypheus would not destroy us so easily here.

We circled lower, Odahviing gliding lazily to give me an aerial tour of the fort. I noted with satisfaction that the bridge was still intact, as were most of the walls and blocky battlements, but for the side overlooking the empty sky above the valley. Overgrown courtyards nestled sleepily behind the walls, collapsed wooden structures rotting peacefully within. It would take work to get it back into shape, but I could already see the immense potential. 

We took one final turn about the keep, wheeling around the tallest tower. Gaping cavities stared out like sightless eyes, the windows within long since broken into dust. With an abrupt _whoosh _, a flock of startled birds burst forth from their roost, flitting around the dragon with alarmed cries, and I laughed as Odahviing snorted his annoyance. With sudden clarity, I knew: Skyhold would be more than just the headquarters of the Inquisition.__

__

It would be a _home_. 

* 

__We flew directly back to the Inquisition to report the good news. Odahviing flew in close before landing so I could dismount, and stayed there, watching the unsettled soldiers nearest him with obvious draconic glee._ _

__“What news?” Cullen asked as he and Josephine approached, Leliana close behind. The Spymaster continued to keep a close eye on me, and when she wasn’t in view, I was certain that some of her trusted agents were watching me in her stead._ _

__“We’ve found it. Probably a few more hours’ walk from here.”_ _

__“There are only a couple of hours left before dark,” Josephine observed._ _

__Cullen grunted. “I would love to get there tonight, but it would mean setting up camp in the dark.”_ _

__“Best, I think, to let everyone get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Leliana interjected. “We can arrive early tomorrow and see what work needs to be done.”_ _

__“I can go back tonight, scout things out,” I offered. “Odahviing and I will lay a trail for you to follow in the morning.”_ _

__Leliana looked at me piercingly, considering. “I suppose that makes sense,” she mused finally. “But you’ll need supplies if you plan on staying there overnight. Josie, can you take care of that?”_ _

__Josephine was more than willing to outfit me. A bedroll and some hardtack and cheese joined my usual pack, along with parchment and ink. She even sacrificed her old yellow dress, much worse for wear after our ordeals, to tie to trees as a way to mark the path._ _

__“I appreciate this, Josie,” I said, tearing the golden satin into strips. “I promise I’ll make sure you get a new one.”_ _

__“Think nothing of it, Dόra,” she waved away my concerns, looking very humble in plain woolen garments. “It was ruined anyway, and at least this way it still serves some purpose. Be careful tonight. You are certain you will be warm enough?”_ _

__“Oh, I’ll be in my element,” I assured her. “Exploring abandoned ruins and killing anything within is a specialty of mine.”_ _

__“I hope you do not find anything more than a few rats,” she sighed. “But good luck.”_ _

__*_ _

__The keep had even more promise than it had appeared from the outside. Rubble littered the interior, but the halls were spacious and the stonework still solid. The walls showed significant damage in only three places—the long corridor leading to the tallest tower, the dungeon, and the exterior wall and battlement on the side of the keep overlooking the glacial valley below. An elevated walkway from the keep proper to an exterior tower had collapsed, blocking off access to part of the lower courtyard, but even so there was plenty of space for the Inquisition to use. The cavernous chambers would have housed even our pre-Corypheus numbers with no problem._ _

__My favorite room by far was a large natural chamber, off the main hall. One wall was completely open to the elements, and the remains of a cold forge dominated the center of the room._ _

__The night passed quickly. I was too absorbed in my explorations to sleep, and Odahviing took advantage of the time to do some exploring of his own. When he settled atop the crumbling outer wall, blood crusting his claws, he declared the hunting grounds sufficient, which I considered high praise coming from the dragon._ _

__As dawn stained the sky, we ventured to the outermost gate to await the rest of the Inquisition. Odahviing settled himself comfortably atop one of the watchtowers flanking the portcullis, draping his wings over the sides. I amused myself during our wait by going through my maps and notes._ _

__Eventually, Odahviing shifted, stone scraping under his claws._ _

__“ THEY COME,” he rumbled, and I looked up. At first, there was nothing, but then the first of the advance scouts rounded the path I’d marked through the mountain. They were too far away for me to make out their expression, but recognized the excitement in their posture as they ran back the way they came. Tiny shouts reached my ears as the news of the journey’s end spread. _ _

__Soon the rest of the force was rounding the ridge, rushing down the slope to the keep. I stood to greet them, and Odahviing rose to his full height and roared triumphantly to the sky._ _

__I watched the group falter with wry amusement. “Are you going to stay there and make them walk under you?” I asked._ _

__The dragon snorted. “ YES.”_ _

__“They might be too afraid of you. They’re sort of uncomfortable with dragons.”_ _

__“AS THEY SHOULD BE. HERE IS A GOOD PERCH, MY LORD.”_ _

__I rolled my eyes but recognized the futility of arguing. “Have it your way, then.”_ _

__Cullen was eyeing the walls approvingly as he strode up to me, though I noticed his eyes slant nervously toward the dragon._ _

__“This will be an excellent base of operations,” the Commander said. “What’s the inside like? Should we bring the troops in, or set up a base camp out here?”_ _

__“The courtyards have plenty of space but they need to be cleared of rubble,” I replied. “We can start everyone else on setting up and I can take you on a tour.”_ _

__“That’s the plan, then.”_ _

__*_ _

__Cassandra and the advisors gathered around their makeshift headquarters: a rickety table stacked high with sketches and plans, in the low courtyard just inside the gate. It was just after dawn on their second day in Skyhold. The bulk of the Inquisition was still in the makeshift camp across the bridge, until the fortress was habitable again. A temporary clinic with tents for the wounded shared the courtyard with the command center, sheltered from the cold winds that regularly whirled outside the walls. Cassandra sighed sadly as she looked at the small cluster of tents. Too many had been injured at Haven, and too many of those had succumbed to their wounds during the trek across the mountains._ _

__“Cassandra? Are you alright?” Josephine asked gently._ _

__She sighed, turning to face the others. “Yes, I’m fine. Just angry, at the waste.”_ _

__“We all are,” Leliana murmured. “But we will not let their sacrifices be in vain. The Inquisition will succeed.”_ _

__Cassandra met Cullen’s eyes, relieved when he gave her an encouraging nod. “Yes,” she agreed with the Spymaster. “And there’s something I wanted to propose. I already asked Cullen his opinion, and he agreed with me.” In fact, she had deliberately sought him out before mentioning her idea, as the most likely naysayer. His approval had been a pleasant surprise. She took a deep breath. “The Inquisition needs a leader.”_ _

__Josephine agreed immediately. “It would certainly help us in our outreach efforts. People in power are reluctant to work with an organization that is ruled solely by committee.”_ _

__“And we already have a strong figurehead,” Cullen ventured. As one, the four turned to watch their most likely candidate._ _

__The subject of their scrutiny, the Herald of Andraste, was currently engaged in helping clear some of the enormous stone blocks from the courtyard leading to the ruined stable. Her efforts in exploring the fortress had helped immensely. Most of the sketches littering the table were her annotated maps, detailing the space available to the Inquisition and suggestions for the uses of each area, as well as rough lists of the repairs necessary._ _

__“The Herald would be the logical choice,” Josephine mused._ _

__“Would she, though?” Leliana asked, taking all three of them by surprise._ _

"Leliana, don’t tell me _you’re_ suspicious of Dόra now,” Josephine sighed in exasperation. 

__“I’m suspicious of everyone, Josie,” Leliana answered, drawing an indignant snort from the other woman. “But Dόra is still keeping secrets from us.”_ _

__“Isn’t she entitled to her privacy?” Cassandra asked. “She has more than proven herself worthy of the Inquisition.”_ _

__“Perhaps,” Leliana replied noncommittally. “Worthy to lead us, though, with secrets still uncovered? I cannot say.”_ _

__Cassandra shot her a curious look—one that Justinia’s left hand quite readily ignored._ _

__“Who, then?” Cullen interjected, looking somewhat baffled. Cassandra surmised that he’d grown so accustomed to the women siding against him that he had no idea how to respond to the three of them not agreeing on something._ _

__Leliana was silent, but a frown creased her brow as she watched Dόra and one of the Chargers heave a huge stone onto the slatted skid they were using to haul the wreckage away. “I don’t know,” she said finally, after a long moment of silence. “I just feel like there’s something more we need to know.”_ _

__Cassandra exchanged concerned glances with Cullen and Josephine, before meeting the Spymaster’s eyes. Leliana’s face was solemn, a hard edge to her gaze as she spoke._ _

__“But I promise you, whatever it is, I will uncover it.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dόra: Odahviing you’re making people uncomfortable.  
> Odahviing: GOOD.  
> In other news, I’ve been debating making a sideblog on tumblr for my writing, partly cause AO3 isn’t a great platform for discussing WIPs except in comments, and partly so I can actually provide updates when I disappear without having to edit an already published chapter. Of course, now tumblr is imploding so maybe it’s not the best time…lol  
> Anyway, if I don’t manage to update again in the next couple weeks, Happy Holidays, and see you in 2019~~


	23. A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the Inquisition is Just Trying to Settle In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went back and actually reread all the previous chapters instead of just skimming over plot points like I usually do, and apparently somewhere in this story I started spelling Dόra’s name with one L instead of two…oops lol. So, I’m going to switch back to that spelling and hope I can remember how to spell my own OC’s names from here out haha ^^; Mostly dialogue and character interaction in this one, and then things get more exciting in the next chap! (Which I'm hoping to get up maybe Sunday, and it'll probably be the last update for the year.)

Vivienne found me at the makeshift anvil set up in the corner of the upper courtyard, hammering nails and fittings from iron. I was surprised to see her—the First Enchanter had mostly ignored me after our first meeting at her salon in Val Royeaux. 

“How surprising, to find the Herald of Andraste crafting building materials like a common worker,” she observed. 

“You’d have me sit around and do nothing while everyone else does the work?”

“Of course not, dear. But surely your talents would be better employed elsewhere.”

“Such as?” I asked, not stopping my work. I could tell by the way her eyes flickered to the anvil that she was annoyed, but she did a masterful job of ignoring it.

“You are a mage, are you not? There is no surfeit of need for our skills.”

She was right. Many mages had volunteered to staff our makeshift clinic, healing minor injuries and ills and doing their best to aid those too serious for magical healing. Others had joined the cleaning endeavors—one group helping to sweep the dead leaves and debris from the buildings and burning them, others assisting in the removal of the larger stones that had fallen into the courtyard. We couldn’t replace them without a stonemason, something Josephine and Leliana were working on, but the mages would help raise the blocks into place when that time came as well.

“I am not a mage in the sense that you, or Dorian, or Solas, are,” I told her. “I’d probably only get in everyone else’s way.”

“But you are …Archmage, was it?”

I froze. 

She chortled. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, dear, I spoke to Fiona. She gave me the whole story.”

I groaned inwardly. _Ysgramor’s beard._

I set my hammer down and turned my full attention to the Iron Lady. “What do you want?” I asked flatly. 

“Why, merely to talk, my dear. Share knowledge and ideas. That’s how progress works, you know.”

I bit my tongue to keep from responding to her condescension. “Alright. What shall we talk about?”

“Magic, naturally. So it’s true then, that you are the head of your College of Magi?”

“Yes,” I replied shortly.

“How do you suppose your College compares to the Circles of Thedas?”

I shrugged. “Seeing as the Circles were abolished before I got here, I really couldn’t say. Though they seem pretty horrible from what I’ve heard.”

She scoffed. “That is simply because you don’t have the full picture. Every Circle was unique, and every mage’s experience within each circle more unique still.”

“But none are allowed the freedom of a non-mage citizen.”

“My dear, all citizens are governed by laws. Murder and theft are illegal, for instance, and those who engage in such activities reap the consequences. Mages simply have a greater potential for causing harm than the average person.”

“Even so, in Skyrim, we don’t lock up our mages in isolated environments with armed guards.”

“Do your mages in Skyrim run the risk of being possessed by a demon every second of their lives?”

“No,” I grudgingly admitted. “But any idiot could summon a Daedra if they came across the right books.”

“And anyone with a sharp enough knife can commit murder,” Vivienne replied coolly. 

“And yet we don’t place armed guards on anyone who might come into contact with a whetstone,” I argued. “It seems to me that isolation from society should be by personal choice only, not the result of an accident of birth. And it also seems that most mages here agree with me, seeing as that’s what caused the mage-Templar conflict to begin with.”

“The motion to dissolve the Circles only won by a small margin—there are still plenty of loyalists out there,” Vivienne sniffed, dismissive. 

“And you lead them, as I recall,” I said, thinking back to our first meeting in Val Royeaux. 

“Indeed I do.”

“And all of your loyalists would agree to go back to the Circles as they were before?”

“The loyalists are more reasonable than our rash colleagues. We don’t disagree that some Circles had a problem with Templar-imposed policies, but we see the bigger picture. After Kirkwall, the common folk feared mages more than ever before. Was that really the opportune time to break away from the safety and security of the Chantry? Of course not.”

“So, what, then?” I asked. “You’d have preferred they waited for their big rebellion?”

“Obviously. Reforms should begin from within, using rational discussion and diplomacy, instead of such violent measures. This chaos hurts everyone.”

“And yet what’s done is done,” I noted.

“Darling, if it were completely impossible to fix situations that have already happened, none of us would be here. This entire Inquisition exists as a stopgap, a corrective measure to a series of events culminating in the Breach.”

“So you would simply take things back to the way they were leading up to the rebellion?”

“The Circles are necessary. Non-mages, no matter how kind and open-minded, can never understand what it is like to be a mage. That is why mages need safe communal spaces, in which they can be around others who are like them, in which they can learn and grow.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Fine,” I conceded. “What did you wish to know?”

“I’m mostly curious as to the internal structure of your College.”

“Well, it’s all one campus, for one thing—not spread out like your Circles. Though I’m not familiar with how mages are organized in the rest of Tamriel.”

“Then tell me what you are familiar with,” Vivienne urged. 

I took a deep breath. “Alright. Only those who have proven themselves worthy, who have a magical aptitude, are allowed entry into the College. We have several instructors whose expertise spans all the schools of magic, and lectures daily, open to any who wish to attend. Also on campus are several researchers, most notably the librarian of the Arcanaeum. New students are provided housing in the apprentice’s dorm, and there are chambers provided to our wizards and scholars as well.”

“How exactly do potential students prove they have an aptitude for magic?” 

“We have a gatekeeper who tests anyone wishing to enter the college. If they approach and can successfully cast a spell, they’re in.”

Vivienne sniffed. “And can no one who has not the aptitude enter, even for academic purposes? How do you expand your student base?”

“We don’t,” I said. “Before I arrived, I’m told that the College was open to anyone, be they knowledge seekers, or customers seeking a particular enchantment, or merely inquisitive. But after the Great Collapse, we began to have problems with hostile strangers, and so the gatekeeping position was implemented.”

“So your mages still mostly live in isolation, it is just an isolation of their own choosing.”

“I…suppose,” I admitted reluctantly. 

“How interesting. And tell me, what of your hierarchy?”

“The Arch-Mage is at the top,” I said, “followed by the Master-Wizard, who handles most of the day-to-day business. The wizards and scholars are all equal. Of course the apprentices are expected to respect their seniors, but there aren’t really any hierarchical structures aside from the top two positions.”

“And how do you determine when an apprentice is ready to be moved up to a full mage?”

“Ah…well, when they’ve advanced sufficiently in their studies, I suppose,” I said. “There isn’t a formal criterion.”

The First Enchanter sniffed disdainfully. “Forgive me for saying so, dear, but I think your College could stand to implement a few of the practices of the Circles.”

“No thanks,” I muttered darkly. 

“Don’t be unreasonable, my dear,” she scolded. “We have a unique opportunity here. We can learn a lot from each other. You have great potential, and a rare chance to become a powerful leader in Thedas, yet you refuse to make the most of it. Mages and non-mages look up to you, seeing you as a higher standard. And you could serve that image so much more if you were to work with us, rather than sitting around doing common work that any smith’s apprentice could do.”

I snorted. “You sound like Mother Giselle. I’m no Chosen of Andraste. And I will serve the Inquisition in any capacity I deem worthy—at this moment, by making nails.”

*

Josie found me there a while later. I’d churned out quite a supply of nails by then, and had moved on to hinges for some variety. Time had ravaged the keep’s woodwork, and all the doors would need replacing.

“You seem quite the capable smith, Dόra,” she observed, watching me work for a few moments.

“I built three of my houses myself,” I told her, setting down the hammer and wiping sweat from my brow. “It’s comforting work. A nice respite from the dangers of adventuring. What did you need?”

“Ah, I have news,” she replied. “Leliana’s scouts have spread the word of our survival, as well as informed our old trading partners of our new home at Skyhold. Supplies as well as refugees have begun arriving, and I foresee many more in the near future. I have made contact with a Dwarven stonemason, who has agreed to contract with the Inquisition. Additionally, an arcanist, who requests the opportunity to lend us her services, has approached us. Her fee is quite weighty, but I believe it would be worthwhile.”

“What’s an arcanist?” I asked, cocking my head. 

“A sort of researcher into magical phenomena and substances. Cullen believes she may be able to provide some insight regarding red lyrium and its effects on the Templars. She would also be able to enchant weapons and armor for us.”

“Sounds useful,” I said. 

“I am pleased you agree,” she smiled, jotting a note on her list. “The final matter is more contentious, I’m afraid. It has to do with Cole.”

“The boy who warned us of Corypheus? What about him?”

“It seems he’s not human,” the Antivan replied. “The others are discussing him with Solas now, trying to come to a consensus about what to do with him. We thought your opinion would be beneficial.”

“Haven’t you learned to keep me away from the contentious decisions, Josie?” I replied teasingly. 

She laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I believe we have learned to trust your judgment.”

I shook my head ruefully. The advisors had gone out of their way to include me in their planning process since the destruction of Haven. It was a rather abrupt change from their earlier suspicion. “Then I will do my best to be worthy of that trust. Where are they?”

“By the war table,” she said, referring to the rickety board placed atop stacked crates in the lower courtyard. We’d identified a large, secure room in the base of the tallest tower that would be home to future war councils, but until we had time to clean it out, we were utilizing the courtyard. 

Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen gathered around Solas as Josie and I approached. Cole sat a ways apart, apparently mesmerized by a spider crawling on the stone wall. 

I had forgotten the young man’s existence after the attack on Haven. Even now, I found it hard to focus on him, my eyes wanting to slide aside to the blank wall. He looked at me as I approached. 

“It’s hard to get used to, letting people see,” he said vaguely. “But…I’ll let you remember.”

I pondered that as I joined the group at the war table. Solas was explaining possession. 

“Demons act on this world by possessing a host, most often a mage. Cole is possessing no one. He manifested in human form seeming of his own accord. No demon could do such a thing.”

“Demons don’t have to possess someone to exist in this world though,” I observed, standing beside Cassandra. “The demons at the fade rifts are proof of that.”

“True,” Solas agreed. “But they were drawn through by the magic of the rifts, against their will. Cole seems to be a spirit.”

“So how did Cole come to be here? Drawn through by the Breach as well?”

“No, he predates the Breach,” Solas answered. “By quite some time, from what I’ve learned.”

“We know he has unusual abilities, such as making people forget him,” Cullen said. “Who’s to say he doesn’t have more nefarious powers?”

“I agree,” Cassandra interjected. “He is an unknown, and that poses a risk.”

“Why don’t we ask him, and see what he tells us?” I asked reasonably. 

“If you can find him, go ahead,” Cullen said wryly. I glanced back at the ground by the wall where Cole still sat, confused. 

“He’s right over there,” I said, nodding toward the spot. As one, the group swiveled to look.

“Where?” Asked Josephine. 

“Amazing,” Solas breathed. “It seems he is making a conscious effort to allow you to see him, when the rest of us cannot.”

Was that what the boy had meant earlier? Glancing at them dubiously, I made my way to where Cole sat. 

Behind me, Cullen cursed in surprise. I whirled around to see what had startled him. 

“Did you see that? He just appeared! Out of nowhere!” Cassandra exclaimed. 

“Hiding for so long,” Cole said, suddenly by my elbow. “I’ll try harder to not be secret. They don’t like secrets.” He looked at me sadly. “You keep many secrets. They would be afraid, if they knew.”

I looked at him, long and hard. “What would you know of my secrets?” I asked.

“Power singing within, always seeking release. You don’t even notice anymore. Dark thoughts and thirst. Homesick, what must my girls think? I don’t belong here.”

I stepped back, nonplussed. “Cole, do you read thoughts?”

“Not thoughts,” he said. “More like feelings? I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I see. Solas seems to think you’re a spirit of some sort. Is that right?”

“I thought I was a ghost,” he answered. “I made mistakes. But I had friends. Until the Templar…then I lost my friends. But I learned to be more like what I am. I can help more now.”

That wasn’t exactly confirmation. “Help how?” I asked. 

“I feel, so I can help. I’ll show you.”

He turned, and led me to the clinic. Wounded soldiers lay on bedrolls, the most seriously injured in the tall tents raised as a location for surgeries and operations. We stopped by the nearest tent. 

“White pain, hot, hot hot, it burns,” Cole said, staring blankly at one of the soldiers inside. “I can’t, I can’t take it, I’m dying, I’m…dead.”

As I watched, the soldier gave one last gasp before going still. 

“That was…disconcerting,” I murmured. The boy moved over to a scout lying by the fire pit. 

“Cracked earth. Scraping, dry, rasping. Thirsty.” He filled a cup from the large earthenware pitcher on one of the tables, handing it to her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes focusing past him, before seeming to dismiss him completely.

“She’ll forget,” Cole said, coming back to stand by me. 

“So you can feel what other people are feeling, which means you can help them when they can’t help themselves?” I asked. 

“Yes. I don’t want to hurt. I want to help.”

“Alright Cole. If you agree to help only, you can stay with the Inquisition.”

_Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Making decisions on my own only seems to get me in trouble here._

His expression didn’t change, but somehow I got the feeling he was relieved.

“I will help,” he said.

The others were still huddled together, watching us with interest. I left Cole there, tending to more of the wounded, and rejoined them. 

“Well?” Cassandra asked. 

“He can feel what people are feeling,” I reported, bracing myself “and he wants to help their hurts. I think having other people’s emotions streaming at him constantly makes him a bit vague, but he genuinely seems to want to help. I told him he could stay as long he didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Then, we will abide by your decision,” Cassandra said, taking me by surprise. 

“You will?” I blurted. 

“Yes, of course,” she said, as though it was an everyday occurrence. “But we will keep an eye on him, just to be safe.”

“That’s probably wise,” I agreed, still taken aback. “Did you need anything else from me right now?”

“No, I think that’s it,” Leliana said, the first words she had spoken since I had joined the group. “Though Solas, if you have a few moments, I would like to speak to you, privately.”

“Of course, Spymaster,” the elf agreed easily, and we went our separate ways.

*

Leliana led Solas to a corner by the clinic, protected from eavesdroppers by the high wall of the upper courtyard. 

“How can I be of assistance?” Solas asked when she turned to face him.

“It’s about Dόra’s collapse a few days ago,” she told him, and his expression grew wary. 

“What of it?”

“Has she shown any other signs of illness? Sensitivity to the sun, other strange behavior?”

The elf’s eyes grew thoughtful. “No,” he replied—truthfully, as far as Leliana could tell. “The only time I had any reason to doubt her behavior was when we were coming back from Val Royeaux. When Varric woke me for my turn to keep watch, she was not in her bedroll. He indicated that he didn’t know how long she’d been missing. When she came back, she said that she was having trouble sleeping, and she stayed up and talked with me during my watch.”

“And you have no idea what she was doing or why she might have been having trouble sleeping?” 

He laughed softly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Dόra doesn’t seem to sleep as much as most Thedosians. Furthermore, she was still adjusting to being here, and the Chantry and Templars both had just denounced the Inquisition. Is it any wonder worries would keep her awake?”

“I suppose not,” Leliana mused. “Back to her collapse. You have no speculation as to what may have caused such a reaction to sunlight?”

“No,” the elf replied. “As I told you after it happened, I do not think it was related to the Anchor, but I cannot be sure. Though perhaps—Cole!”

The strange boy drifted over as Solas waved to him. “You wanted to ask about the Herald?”

“Yes. Do you know if she is afflicted with any illness?”

The spirit stared at the mage through his shaggy hair. “Yes. She doesn’t like to tell people.”

“I understand, Cole,” Leliana said gently. “But if it’s something that might come up again, or that might cause her harm, we need to know about it. The Inquisition relies on Dόra.”

He seemed to think about this, the long silence stretching between them. 

“Is there anything about this disease you can tell us?” Leliana pressed. 

“Hungry, weak and strong both, need life, flowing red tangy life, across my tongue, feel alive, sun is burning, burning I can’t hide, the red will make the pain go away,” the boy replied, voice a monotone. 

“The red? The potion she consumed?” Solas asked. 

“It helped,” Cole replied simply. “There’s another, hurting, helpless, needing help…I can help…” 

He wandered away from them without a backward glance. 

“What do you think he meant?” Leliana asked, after watching Cole go back to his self-imposed caretaking duties. 

“I’d say he was repeating Dόra’s feelings at the time. The burning sun is obvious—we witnessed it ourselves. The potion was red, and it obviously healed whatever ailed her. If you want more specific information, you’ll probably have to ask her yourself.”

“I will consider it. Thank you, Solas. Will you let me know if you learn anything more from Cole?”

“As you wish,” he replied. “I will take my leave.”

The elf departed, and Leliana made her way to the makeshift rookery. Eventually her birds would reside in one of the towers, but their primary concern had been to clean out and repair living space for the survivors of Haven, so for now she was using this temporary arrangement.

First Enchanter Vivienne stood by the wagon holding the ravens’ cages. 

“Greetings, Madame Vivienne,” Leliana said politely. 

“Hello, Leliana. We haven’t had a chance to talk recently,” the First Enchanter returned

“No, things have been rather chaotic, haven’t they?” Leliana replied. She had encountered the courtier a few times in Val Royeaux, but they had never been more than passing acquaintances. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Oh yes, my dear. Rumor has it that you mean to name our dear Herald as Inquisitor.”

Leliana briefly considered some quip about the fickleness of rumor, but Vivienne was well aware of the volatile nature of gossip—and how useful a tool it could be. 

“There’s been some discussion to that effect,” she said instead. 

“I’m sure you’ve investigated her thoroughly, but I suggest you talk to Fiona, before making any rash decisions.”

“Are you suggesting Fiona as a candidate for Inquisitor instead?”

Vivienne chortled. “Of course not, dear. Fiona was barely adequate at being the Grand Enchanter. However, it seems Halldόra actually had the gall to _threaten_ her after allying with the mages in Redcliffe.”

“If it seemed a genuine threat, why didn’t Fiona bring it to my attention earlier?”

“I believe it was made in the heat of the moment by Halldόra, and Fiona assumed that the information she imparted with the threat was already known to the Inquisition. I, however, think otherwise.”

“And what was this information?”

“Oh, it seems our Herald claimed to be the head of the mages in her homeland—the equivalent of the Grand Enchanter, if you will. There was also mention of more nefarious secrets.”

Leliana felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as bile settled in her stomach. More secrets. 

“I see. I will look into it, Madame Vivienne.”

“I have every faith in you, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever Vivienne mentions how she leads the ‘loyal’ mages and how they’re so much better than the rebels, does anyone else wonder where they were when we needed to choose mages or Templars to close the Breach? WHERE WERE YOUR LOYALIST MAGES THEN, HUH? WHERE WERE THEY, VIV?


	24. Trust Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Secrets are Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun du-dun dun! Drama!! And, shout-out to reader Kyattogaaru, who suggested Dόra feed on prisoners in Skyhold! This might not be the outcome you anticipated, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up~

The blood thirst sang in my veins. It had been three days since I’d consumed my last blood potion, and I knew I’d have to feed again soon, but Leliana and her agents were watching me closely. Furthermore, the general chaos of Skyhold and the camp meant it was very difficult to sneak around at night, or to find an isolated individual to feed on. 

I was pondering my options while we cleaned out the chambers leading to what would eventually be the War Room. We’d deemed the long antechamber with a large fireplace perfect for Josephine, and the sweet Antivan had been so patient with everyone that we had mutually decided to set her up in comfort as soon as possible. 

“We’re making great progress,” Cassandra observed as we worked. “The cleaning is coming along nicely, and once the stonemason arrives and completes his inspection, we’ll be able to work on the major repairs.”

“I am sure Cullen will appreciate the walkway to his office being completed,” Leliana teased. The Commander had claimed one of the towers on the outer walls as his headquarters and chambers. 

“Actually, I must confess that it’s the dungeon that concerns me the most,” he told her. “A door leading out to empty air pales in comparison to the risk to the structural integrity of the keep that the dungeon collapse poses.”

“That is why we haven’t even begun to clear any of the rubble out,” Cassandra reminded him. “We agreed that the stonemason would need to approve any movements or changes in that part of the fortress.”

“We do need to figure out what to do with Alexius, though,” Dorian mused. He had wandered in a few hours after we’d started clearing out the room, and offered his assistance. “Surely enough of the cells are undamaged that we could find a secure place for him?”

“That is probably fine,” Leliana replied thoughtfully. “I’ll have someone take him down there and set up a new lock on one of the doors. Then we’ll get a guard posted just to be safe.”

“I can do that,” I volunteered, seeing my chance. “I’d like to find out if he knows anything more of Corypheus’ plans anyway. See if time has jogged his memory.”

The Spymaster looked at me curiously. “Alright, I will inform my agents to release him to you. Just be careful, Dόra.”

*

Alexius was a shell of the proud Magister I’d met in Redcliffe, following me hollowly to the dungeon. He stood complacently while I inspected the intact cells, and fitted the lock I’d pilfered from the Inquisition’s meager supplies to the door of my choosing. Then I stood there, without closing it, after he’d gone in without a word. We stared at each other. I glanced back at the door into the keep—no sign of anyone besides the two of us.

A quick burst of magicka was all it took to cast the Seduction on him. 

“Shh,” I crooned, approaching cautiously. “Don’t be afraid…”

The Magister tilted his head obediently to the side, and my teeth pierced the thick vein in his neck. Blood flowed over my tongue…and the door leading to the outer cells flew open with a crash. It hadn’t even occurred to me to check the unstable outer dungeon. 

“Unhand that man, Herald,” Leliana said, bow drawn and arrow pointing at my heart.

*

Leliana strode close beside me as we passed through the great hall. To a casual onlooker, I’m sure we looked the friendly pair, inspecting the Inquisition’s progress. But hidden beneath her draping cowl, a razor-sharp dagger pressed into my side, and her arm held mine firmly. 

I had no intention of running, or fighting, so I walked calmly beside the Spymaster, smiling and nodding at the people we passed, maintaining my air of nonchalance. 

We passed quickly into Josephine’s quarters, where the others were still engaged in cleaning. At some point during my absence, Solas and Varric had joined in, and they looked at us in curiosity as we entered. Something about Leliana’s manner must have alerted them—I could feel the tension rolling off the Nightingale in waves—and their eyes narrowed. 

“Problem?” Varric asked, looking from me to Leliana and back. The bustle of cleaning quieted as the others in the room became aware that something was afoot.

“War Room. Now,” Leliana grated, jerking her head toward the opposite door. 

“Leliana, what is wrong?” Cassandra asked, but the Spymaster simply glowered at her, and the Seeker subsided. 

We trailed behind as the others made their way into the cluttered War Room. An enormous table, the remains of an immense tree trunk, dominated the center of the room, and a thick layer of dust and grime covered everything. Molding wood from the rotted beams high above littered the floor. 

The heavy door closed with a thud, and Leliana drew away from me, dagger now aiming steadily at my throat. 

“Leliana, what are you doing!” Josephine exclaimed, voice high. 

“She was _bleeding_ the Magister,” the Spymaster spat, voice heavy with disgust. “Explain yourself, creature. Cole told us you were ill, but that wasn’t true, was it? Is it blood magic?”

I sighed, moving slowly away from the door. Cullen and Cassandra had gripped their sword hilts at the mention of blood magic, and I wanted to show that I would comply with their demands and put them at ease. 

“It wasn’t blood magic,” I said. “And it is technically a disease: _Sanguinare Vampiris_.”

“Meaning?” Leliana prompted. 

“Meaning I’m a vampire.”

There were gasps around the room. 

“I thought you destroyed the vampire lord?” Varric asked, looking confused and more than a little distraught. 

“I did,” I confirmed. “His daughter, Serana, and I allied with the Dawnguard to put an end to him. Long story short, when we were looking for information on how to do that, we had to enter the Soul Cairn. Living beings cannot enter, so I had to either trap part of my soul in a soul gem, or become a vampire. Serana is a vampire herself, so it just made sense.”

“So you are a monster,” Cassandra stated. Her face was pale, hand shaking where it gripped her sword hilt with white knuckles. 

I sighed and shrugged. “I suppose I am, to most people.”

“So you’ve been sneaking around drinking people’s _blood_ all this time?” Cullen asked, looking appalled. “We trusted you!”

“I never bleed anyone to the point of death,” I said testily. “Most times they don’t even know. They’re asleep, I take what I need, and then heal them with a spell.”

“We should have known we could not trust you,” Leliana growled, prowling around the table. “We should have known when we discovered your willingness to sell your soul and become a beast, a werewolf.”

“I was cured of the beast blood, though,” I tried to point out. 

“That is not the point!” She shouted. “You lied to us! About this and other things! You threatened Fiona after you took Alexius into custody. You told her that you were Archmage, and you told her that you assassinated an emperor.”

“Shit, Rose,” Varric breathed, looking immensely disappointed. “Assassination?”

I fidgeted, uncomfortable with the admission. “I was young then, concerned mostly with gold, so I joined the Dark Brotherhood, a guild of assassins.” 

Cassandra moved forlornly to the edge of the table, sinking against it dejectedly. “What else have you been hiding from us?” She asked. 

I hesitated. 

Dorian blew out a long breath. “You’d best tell them everything, darling. It will be worse in the long run if you don’t.”

I glanced at him. “You guessed?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “Mind you, it wasn’t terribly difficult. If you wanted it to stay secret, you shouldn’t have used your fancy magics.”

“What is he talking about?” Cullen asked sharply. 

I closed my eyes, resigned to the inevitable. 

“I’m the Dragonborn,” I said. 

Dead silence. 

“Dragonborn? The hero of your Skyrim?” Solas was the first to speak. 

“But…we asked you if you held any titles, back in Haven,” Josephine sounded baffled. “Why would you not tell us this then?”

I laughed bitterly. “Oh, yes, ‘hello strange people who I’ve only just met and who imprisoned me the first time you saw me. By the way, I’m the Archmage, sorry to hear you hate mages and that there’s a war against them going on. Also, I’m a human with the soul of a dragon, hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.’”

She looked heartbroken, and I felt ashamed for my outburst. 

“I should have told you,” I conceded, looking away from their judgmental eyes. “When we got to know each other better, I should have come clean. It just seemed…easier to keep it to myself, I guess.”

“I’d say you’d better come clean now,” Leliana said. She’d finally lowered her dagger, though she still cradled the blade loosely in her hand. “I’m particularly curious about this assassin bit.”

I blew out a breath and leaned against the wall, letting my head fall back against the cool stone. 

“It was before I even knew I was Dragonborn,” I said. “As I mentioned, I was young and mostly concerned with gold, so I joined the Thieves Guild, and then the Dark Brotherhood. I was good at both, and I rose to the top.”

“Rose to the top?” Solas repeated, sounding fascinated. 

“Yes. Both guilds suffered betrayals from within, providing me the opportunity to become the leader.”

“You once mentioned the Companions,” Cassandra noted. 

I nodded. “After a while the gold wasn’t fulfilling enough on its own, so I sought glory. That was when I joined the Companions.”

“And ‘rose to the top’?” Leliana asked scathingly. 

“In my defense, our previous Harbinger had apparently seen me in a dream as being his successor,” I hedged. “But, yes.”

Dorian snorted. “And the mage’s college? Head any other guilds we ought to know about?”

I thought about it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“That’s a relief,” he remarked sarcastically. 

“How do you keep it all straight?” Varric asked, sounding awed. “Head of the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood’s chief assassin—”

“Listener,” I interrupted. 

“—Sure. Archmage, Harbinger, Thane in how many holds was it? Nine? And Dragonborn.”

“And vampire,” Cullen muttered. “Don’t forget that.”

“How can we trust you now?” Cassandra asked, sounding defeated. “A thief and assassin, a monster who drinks blood…and you can summon dragons, can’t you? That’s something to do with being Dragonborn, not some simple spell.”

“I’m not necessarily proud of all the things I’ve done…and I’m still the same person, Cassandra,” I said gently. 

“The same person who has lied to us for months,” she spat, abruptly standing upright with fire in her eyes. “The same person who deliberately went to Redcliffe without me, and approached the mages on her own. No, you have betrayed us. I want nothing more to do with you.”

So saying, she strode out the door, glaring daggers as she passed me, and a pang of grief pierced my heart as silence descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know if you go back to Isran as a vampire after the Soul Cairn stuff he freaks out and you can’t finish the questline until you’re cured, but we’re just gonna ignore that. Pretend Isran either didn’t realize Dόra had changed or wasn’t so stubborn. (Plus, I’ve def walked up to him as a non-Volkihar vampire and joined the Dawnguard before and he apparently had no idea, so…) Thanks for reading, and Happy Holidays/Happy New Year!


	25. Confinement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which No One is Pleased (Except Possibly Dagna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back where I have regular Wi-Fi again, hooray! I'm a little behind in releasing this chapter, but I ended up adding new material at the last minute and have been trying to decide what to put in this chapter versus the next one. Still haven't finished adding new stuff to the next one but I'll try to get it out in the next couple weeks!

A lengthy discussion about what to do with me ensued. It seemed no one could agree. Cullen and Leliana were in favor of tossing me in the dungeon and washing their hands of me; Dorian and Varric objected. Josephine fretted about what it would do to the Inquisition’s image if the world learned they had locked up the Herald of Andraste, and Solas watched the proceedings in fascination without offering any opinion of his own.

Finally, they settled for confining me in the Undercroft, after extracting a promise that I would not attack Harritt or the guards they set to keep an eye on me. Eventually, I was certain, a more permanent prison would present itself. 

They stripped me of weapons and armor, gave me a warm dress and cloak, and provided a bedroll in the corner of the enormous cavern. Then they left me there, leaving only Cullen hovering behind. 

“Can I at least use the forge?” I asked, exasperated with these safety measures. 

The Commander looked at me searchingly. “You swore not to harm anyone,” he reminded me.

“I won’t, Cullen,” I sighed. “I’ll just make weapons and armor to keep myself occupied. They can be taken away as soon as they’re complete, if you’d like.”

He grunted. “I suppose that would be fine. Just, please—don’t make us regret extending you any more trust than we already have.”

After Cullen left, none of those whom I had called ‘friend’ came to see me. Two of Leliana’s most trusted agents were in the chamber at all times, watching me, but never engaging in any way. I forged a number of swords and daggers, each one taken away almost before they’d been quenched, long before I even had a chance to hone the edge. 

I didn’t know how much they’d told Harritt: he gave me some odd looks when he thought I couldn’t see, but made no remark on my constant presence in his smithy. He brought inconsequential news from the outside—Bull and the Chargers were planning on going back to Haven with Master Dennet, to salvage whatever they could and find as many of the horses as had survived. Lady Vivienne had been strutting about, smugly bossing anyone and everyone around. Sera had some mission she wanted the Inquisition to look into in Verchiel, but the advisors thought it a frivolous waste of time and resources. Evidently, the elf had mutilated all the training dummies, painting them to resemble gruesomely mangled corpses, in retaliation.

And so the first two days passed.

*

On the third day, the arcanist arrived. 

Cullen and Leliana escorted her in—the first time I’d seen either of them since my confinement in the Undercroft. 

“Oooh, you’re the Herald!” The newcomer exclaimed happily the moment she set her eyes on me. “And that must be the Anchor-mark! It’s so pretty!”

“Halldόra, may I present the arcanist, Dagna,” Cullen announced, as the dwarf woman circled around me. 

“She is here to study the Anchor and its magic,” Leliana said, “as well as outfit the Inquisition with better supplies. You will abide by any requests or tests she feels are necessary.” The Spymaster’s tone held a warning. 

I smiled wryly. “As long as her requests are within reason, I don’t think that will be a problem.” I looked Leliana in the eye. “But if she thinks she will dissect me or some other such nonsense, she’s got another think coming.”

“Oh I don’t think _that_ will be necessary,” Dagna laughed. “At least, I’m pretty sure. We’ll see.”

“Er…We’ll just bring in your…apparatuses…now, shall we?” Cullen asked.

“Yes, of course! This place will be the perfect workshop!” Dagna bounced excitedly, waving her arms around to encompass the entire space. “Oh, I can’t wait to get started!”

I leaned against the balustrade and watched as Cullen directed the workers hauling enormous frames, strange statues, and a seemingly endless supply of crates. Dagna the arcanist bounded in between them, suggesting here, issuing orders there. In a surprisingly short time, elaborate tables and crafting stations were set up, and the workers were filing out. 

“Let us know if you need anything, Dagna,” Leliana said to the dwarf. 

“And how long am I to be segregated here?” I asked dryly before she could turn away. She shot me a glare. 

“As long as we deem necessary.”

Cullen opened his mouth as the Spymaster strode past him, but then seemed to think better of it, and followed her out without a word. 

“They explained everything to me,” Dagna said. “At least, I think they explained everything. But they said you were from a different world, and that you’re a vampire, and that your soul isn’t human! I didn’t really understand that part. Could you explain it?”

The dwarf rambled on, searching her myriad crates for notating materials. I sighed, resigning myself to having to explain in minute detail everything about my life in Skyrim. At least it would stave off the boredom of my confinement for a while. 

*

Varric waited by the front door of the keep as Cullen escorted the newly arrived arcanist up the tower to Leliana’s rookery. The birds had been moved in that afternoon, after the stonemason had deemed the structure fit for habitation. The mages were in the process of claiming the library on the second floor, and Chuckles had settled in the lower foyer. Varric had been loitering by the fireplace, keeping his ear to the ground for any news. 

After the pair had disappeared from the great hall, he hurried across the hall into the basement, making his way to the dusty library that so far had escaped nearly all notice. 

The others were waiting for him there. The Iron Bull, Blackwall, Dorian, Sera, and even Solas were crowded into the narrow room. They all jerked around sharply as he entered.

“Ah, Varric,” Dorian greeted. “We were afraid you wouldn’t be able to make it. I took the liberty of informing our friends the truth of what transpired two days ago. Rumors have been flying, as you well know.” 

“Good thinking, Sparkler,” Varric commended. “We probably shouldn’t stay in here for too long. So, now that you all know what happened: what do we do about it?”

“Just what are you suggesting, dwarf?” Blackwall asked, beard bristling. 

“Well we can’t just let them lock Rose up indefinitely.”

“Pish we can’t,” Sera argued. “She’s a freakin’…bloodsucking fright!”

“She’s never sucked any of your blood,” Varric pointed out. “Probably, anyway.” 

“That ain’ the point!”

“I doubt that the advisors will release her on our say-so,” Solas said. “They were quite upset with her deceptions. I’m afraid vampirism seems too much like blood magic in their eyes.”

Dorian began to pace. “Maybe so, but they’re ignoring the fact that she’s also a hero—not just in Skyrim, where she apparently slayed this Alduin, but here as well. She closed the Breach; she was willing to sacrifice herself for us at Haven. She has been a friend to all of us here.”

“So you want to break her out?” The Iron Bull rumbled. “What good would that do? Then both you and she would be fugitives from the Inquisition. Hard to figure out what Corypheus is up to if they’re too busy hunting one of their own.”

“Surely they wouldn’t waste the resources tracking her down when Corypheus is still a threat?” Dorian asked. 

“You saw how mad Seeker was,” Varric replied softly. “People don’t act rationally when they’re angry. But I agree: I hate leaving her stuck as a prisoner. Maybe we can find some way to ensure that the Inquisition will go after Corypheus, instead of Rose.”

“We can’t exactly hide her,” Bull pointed out. “I mean, she’s the only one who can close rifts. She needs to be out in the world, helping people. I’m sure Cullen and Leliana will realize that themselves. Cassandra too, no matter how angry she is.”

Varric sighed. “I hope you’re right Tiny. I really hope you’re right.”

*

Cassandra strode into the War Room with the advisors. Leliana had called the meeting after overseeing the arrival of the new arcanist, who, Cassandra was told, was happily questioning Halldόra regarding the nature of her very existence.

“Now that we have recovered from the destruction of Haven, we must discuss the Inquisition’s next steps,” the Spymaster began. 

“And how are we to decide such a thing without our Herald?” Josephine asked, the slightest bite to her voice. The gentle Antivan had never raised her voice or spoken harshly to anyone in Cassandra’s memory, but she seemed almost on the verge of it now.

“We’ve discussed this, Josie,” Leliana sighed. “We cannot trust her.”

“She has proven herself nothing but trustworthy!” Josephine exclaimed. “She—”

“She’s not even human, Josephine,” Cassandra asserted. “She’s inhuman, she feasts on blood: she is an abomination.”

The Ambassador stubbornly opened her mouth to retort. 

“Let us agree to disagree, for the moment,” Leliana interjected smoothly. “For now, we will set the matter of Halldόra aside and focus on the Elder One.”

“Leliana is right,” Cullen said, speaking up from where he hovered uncomfortably by the door. “We know now who’s behind the Breach—do we have idea what happened to this Corypheus after Haven?”

“Unfortunately not,” Leliana muttered. “But we do have some clues. In the future that Dόra and Dorian saw, Corypheus had invaded Thedas with a demon army. That suggests he has a number of mages at his command.”

“Isn’t it possible that Dόra changed that future when she successfully thwarted Alexius and recruited the rebel mages?” Josephine asked. “Perhaps we no longer have to worry about the demon army.”

“I’m not willing to count on that,” Cullen mused. “For one thing, the Imperium is involved, and where the Imperium goes, blood magic follows.”

“Yes. If I were Corypheus, I would have sent an envoy of these Venatori to every head of state in the South,” Leliana agreed. “I will dispatch agents to identify and watch these cultists.” 

Josephine made a note on her writing board. “Corypheus also assassinated Empress Celene. But she has no reason to listen to the Inquisition as we are now, on only hearsay from a vision of the future. I suggest we send an ambassador to Val Royeaux, to gain the Empress’ ear and trust, and keep watch for any potential threats. Madame Vivienne would be a suitable choice.”

Leliana nodded thoughtfully. “Lady Vivienne may be accepted at court due to her history there, but you know how the Game is played, Josie. If we are to send her as an emissary of the Inquisition, the Inquisition itself needs to have a stronger reputation in Orlais.”

“I will see what I can do,” the Ambassador replied, jotting another note. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “I must admit I’m particularly concerned about the corrupted Templars that attacked us in Haven,” he said. 

“I am, as well,” Cassandra agreed. “Yet we did not see the Lord Seeker—or any Seeker—in his army.”

“Exactly,” Cullen nodded. “Corypheus can’t have corrupted the entire order. I received word from a young Knight-Captain shortly before we attempted the Breach: Lord Seeker Lucius had gathered the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt. I think we need to make it a priority to see if any are still there.”

“We must rescue any who are yet uncorrupted by the red lyrium,” Cassandra declared. “And try to convince the Lord Seeker to see reason.”

Leliana stared intently at the map spread across the long table. “Agreed. In that case, Cassandra, you will lead an operation to Therinfal Redoubt. I will send scouts to gather any information they can, and have them meet you there.”

* 

As it turned out, talking to Dagna was not nearly as tedious as I thought. She was curious about everything, but astonishingly insightful. The rest of the afternoon and most of the fourth day of my confinement practically flew by. Leliana had allowed her to bring in my bow—a gift from Karliah—and I had explained the enchanting process to the best of my abilities. 

“So you use _souls_ to enchant things?” She asked. “That seems so unnecessary! Here we just use lyrium!”

“There is no lyrium in my world,” I replied dryly. 

“What about the Fade?”

“Nope. Magic just…is. It’s everywhere, in everyone. It’s in every living thing; that’s why we can collect it in soul traps.”

“Amazing!” Dagna exclaimed. “Where did it come from, I wonder?”

“Magic? Um…” I struggled to remember the basic history lessons from the College. “Supposedly magicka flows into Mundus from Aetherius, through the sun and stars.”

“What are Mundus and Aetherius?”

“Mundus is the mortal realm, the plane in which Nirn exists. Aetherius is the immortal plane, the realm of the Divines and the mortal dead.”

“And magic originates from this Aetherius? That sounds a lot like the Fade.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t say. It doesn’t resemble any descriptions of the Fade that I’ve heard, but then I’ve only been to one part of it.”

“You’ve been to Aetherius? Is that a vampire thing, because you’re technically dead?”

“No, it was a Dragonborn thing. I went to Sovngarde to battle Alduin.”

“So, the Dragonborn thing. How does that work, exactly? Would you mind if I took a blood sample?”

“Ah-HEM.” 

Both Dagna and I jumped, having been so absorbed in our discussion that we hadn’t noticed Leliana’s agent. The man was staring between us, looking very irate indeed. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said testily, “Sister Nightingale requests your presence, arcanist.” 

“Oh, of course,” she said. “Dόra, when I get back, I’d like to teach you to enchant weapons with runes, and see how similar it is to your method with the soul gem things.”

“Sounds good,” I said, amused at the sour look on my guard’s face. I was sure he’d be reporting that particular plan to Leliana, and urging her to talk the arcanist out of it. 

“I’m so excited!” Dagna squealed, waving as she followed the agent out.


	26. Confinement, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dόra Becomes Impatient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was mistaken, it's the next chapter (27) that is mostly new stuff, which I'm still figuring out. So, here's 26, and hopefully I'll get 27 ready to go for next weekend~

The next days passed much the same. Dagna and I discussed magic and the Anchor, and forged weapons and armor and filled them with enchantments. The arcanist was impressed with my smithing abilities, another commonality between us. 

“I was born into the smith caste,” she confided. “I left without telling my parents, to study at the Circle in Ferelden. The Hero of Ferelden herself recommended me to First Enchanter Irving!”

With the passing of the days, my blood thirst had once again built up to a maximum, but rather than being repulsed by my more bat-like appearance, Dagna was fascinated.

“So what happens if you don’t feed?” She asked. “You’re not going to die, are you?”

“No, I won’t die,” I laughed. “It just makes me more sensitive to fire and sunlight. Usually it’s manageable. After Haven, the sun burned me severely, but I think it was due to the extent of my injuries. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”

“Are you alright in here?” She queried, showing an unexpected compassion. 

“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “The Undercroft doesn’t get any direct sunlight. Just don’t push me into the forge or anything.”

Late every afternoon, Leliana summoned the dwarf to report, both on her findings and on my behavior. 

“I think they expect you to try to drink my blood, or attack me and escape,” she remarked after one such absence. “Not that I’d mind if you drank some of my blood, if you needed to, but you’ve been nothing less than polite and helpful.” 

“Thank you, Dagna,” I said solemnly. “I appreciate that. Despite the circumstances, I’ve enjoyed our talks lately.”

She grinned. “I have too. Oh, that reminds me, I went out to see your dragon. He’s awfully impressive, isn’t he?”

“How is he?” Perhaps one of the things that bothered me most about my inability to wander the fortress was that I couldn’t check on Odahviing. I was half-afraid that the Inquisition would decide to attack him. 

“He seemed fine, though I couldn’t understand most of what he said. He didn’t seem very interested in speaking with me, either. The guards at the gate said he flies off every so often to hunt, but always returns and just perches up there. I think they kind of like having him there now.”

“That’s good,” I replied in relief. “Though eventually he’ll wonder at my absence, I’m sure.”

“I mentioned that to Leliana, but she told me not to worry about it,” Dagna answered. “She says that about a lot of things though.”

As time passed, the agents set to guard me became more lax about leaving weapons and armor about. Dagna had thrown a fit the first time one of them had attempted to take a freshly forged sword away, insisting that it was an important experimental tool and she needed to study the rune I’d folded into the metal. 

“I wish Leliana would let me have unlimited access to your other things,” she lamented. “With your permission, of course. But she keeps them locked in a chest in her tower, and told me that studying the way you do magic isn’t my highest priority.”

“What did she say was the highest priority?” I asked, amused. 

“Who knows,” Dagna shrugged dismissively. “She didn’t show a proper appreciation for scientific inquiry.”

She showed me how the so-called ‘masterworks’ of Thedas were forged, and in turn I crafted arms and armor in the traditional styles of Skyrim. Harritt grumbled about the excessive use of rare materials, but hovered on the edge of our discussions, listening in fascination, and I awoke one morning to find him settling a set of silverite armor that I had made in the likeness of light Stalhrim armor onto a mannequin, running his hands over the creation lovingly. 

“Such exquisite work deserves to be admired,” he’d said defensively when he turned around and found me smirking at him. 

When the sixth day dawned, I was decidedly restless, despite the diverting companionship and distraction of forging things more complex than nails or iron swords. A few times, I’d approached the door leading out into the keep, only to have the two guards subtly move in front of it, cutting me off. I had no doubt that there were more agents posted outside, in the event that I made it past the two stationed in the Undercroft. 

The only other exit, of course, was the open balcony. Leaning on the balustrade, I was reminded strongly of the Great Porch in Dragonsreach. Jumping from such a height would most likely be suicide, and the surrounding cliffs were steep and icy. It could be doable, with the right equipment and plenty of time, but my constant watchdogs meant neither were available to me. 

“Would you please inform the Spymaster that I wish to speak with her?” I asked one of the agents, but without any real hope for compliance. I had made the same demands a few times before, but each time I’d been ignored, either by the guards themselves or by Leliana. It seemed I didn’t merit the courtesy of discussing the duration of my imprisonment, even while Corypheus roamed Thedas with his mad scheme to remake the world.

Frankly, I was getting impatient. 

Dagna had gone on her afternoon visit to the Spymaster, Harritt was out for the afternoon meal, and my two guards lounged by the door when the first sounds of the commotion reached us. Muffled shouts drifted in through the thick door, and the vibration of heavy boots filtered through the stone floor. My two guards looked at each other in concern. 

“Maybe one of you should find out what’s going on?” I suggested. They glowered at me suspiciously. 

“I promise I will behave myself,” I said solemnly. “But if there’s an attack, I’m sure we’d all like to know about it before it’s over, yes?”

They exchanged another glance, then one quickly ducked out the door. I heard her conferring with someone outside, and then silence. The remaining guard eyed me warily. 

It was perhaps ten minutes later when the door opened again, admitting Dagna, who looked flushed and breathless. 

“What happened?” I demanded before the guard could speak. 

“The Lady Ambassador was attacked!” She gasped. 

“What?!” I roared, and strode out the door before anyone could stop me. 

As I suspected, two more guards bracketed the door on the other side, and they leapt to attention in surprise as I stormed out, but by the time they had recovered enough to follow, I was across the chamber and stomping through the door to Josephine’s office. Leliana and Cullen were within, as well as a number of armed soldiers, and Varric. Josephine was sitting on the chaise in front of the fire, shaking. My cursory glance around the room took in the blood-soaked carpet and the body lying by her desk, a number of Bianca’s bolts embedded in the dead man’s back. 

“I should have expected this,” Josephine was lamenting to Leliana. “And that they would infiltrate the servants! I’m so sorry Leliana. Thank you for having your people shadow me—it saved my life.”

“What happened?” I demanded. Cullen whirled around, cursing. 

“Dόra, you are supposed to be in confinement,” Leliana said heatedly. 

I ignored her. “Josie, are you alright?” 

“Yes, yes I’m fine, Dόra, thank you.”

“Herald, I really must insist that you return to the Undercroft,” Cullen said. 

“Is that really a priority now, Curly?” Varric muttered. “I’d say the assassin on the floor is the biggest problem.”

“Why would assassins target Josephine?” I asked. 

“That is none of your concern,” Leliana hissed. “Now get back to the Undercroft before I have you dragged there in chains!”

“Leliana, please, she is just concerned for me,” Josie tried to soothe, but the Spymaster waved her words away. 

I narrowed my eyes at the redhead. “Fine,” I said, voice clipped. “I have respected your demands thus far, but know that I expect a full explanation from one of you on what just happened within the hour. If you do not provide one, I will have no choice but to stop complying with your ridiculous ‘confinement’.”

Leliana’s eyes widened, and I spun on my heel and stormed out, back across the great hall. The room had undergone quite a transformation in the last few days—the rubble entirely cleared out, and scaffolding set up along the walls. Most of the rafters looked new, and the broken windows had temporary covers. My steps slowed as I realized how much progress I had missed, and a hot wave of rage surged through me anew. 

The guards Leliana had set trailed behind me as I entered the Undercroft, uncertain what to do. Dagna took one look at my face and silently turned back to her workbench, busying herself with some inconsequential thing. I ignored them all and strode directly to the balustrade, leaning against the marble railing and settling in to wait. I would count the minutes if necessary, and if Leliana or Cullen did not come in to explain what had happened, I would take drastic measures. 

*

Cullen issued orders to his soldiers, quickly removing the corpse from the floor and cleaning up any trace of the bloody mess. Leliana fussed over Josephine, until the Ambassador got fed up. 

“Enough, Leliana!” She exclaimed finally. “I am fine. You need not fret over me so. Go, examine the body. I know you are dying to get to the bottom of this.”

“If you’re sure, Josie,” the redhead acquiesced. Varric followed her out. 

“What is it, Varric?” She asked, stopping to the side of the great hall. “It’s about Dόra, I presume?”

Varric nodded. “Is it really necessary to keep her locked in the Undercroft? So she kept some secrets. We’ve all got secrets.”

“Those secrets do not involve feeding on blood, or having a nonhuman soul, or lying about being an assassin and a thief and whatever else.”

“Look, Nightingale,” the dwarf reasoned. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. And none of us is exactly clean of any wrongdoing. How many people have you eliminated in your time as a bard? And I know all the stories. You kept some unconventional company during the Blight. Why is Rose any different?”

She sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. “I…I know. You are right. I have been too harsh in my judgement. It’s just…it is my job to know people’s secrets. To have so many be hidden from me for so long…”

“I think the fact that she’s from an entirely different world excuses any failure on your part to suss out her background,” Varric said dryly. “It’s not like you can interrogate her friends.”

She chuckled. “I suppose that is true.”

“All I ask is that you reconsider your stance,” Varric said. “We can’t afford to keep her hidden away from the world. She’s the only one who can close rifts, and we need to get ahead of Corypheus if we’re to stand any chance against him.”

“Very well, Varric,” she agreed. “I will consider the options.”

“And I’d give her the explanation she wants, too,” he added. “Otherwise she might just take matters into her own hands, and I don’t think any of us are really ready to see her dragon soul in action.”

*

The Iron Bull was waiting beside Varric’s fire. “Josephine alright?” He asked without preamble. Of course the qunari would have heard about the assassination attempt. 

“Shaken up, but she’ll be fine,” Varric answered. 

The mercenary grunted. “Good. Saw you talking to the Spymaster. Trying to convince her that the Boss is still our ally?”

“Yeah,” Varric nodded. “She was surprisingly agreeable. With any luck, we’ll be going on missions with Rose to close rifts again in the next few days.”

“Leliana will still have to convince Cullen, and Cassandra,” Bull warned. “Don’t get your hopes up too much.”

“They can’t just leave her locked up,” Varric said in exasperation. “Even Seeker has to realize that sometime.”

“I know, I’m just saying, it might take longer than you expect. The boys and I are scheduled to leave for Haven at dawn. Just…don’t do anything crazy until I get back, okay?”

*

Radical measures proved unnecessary: the hour was almost up when Leliana finally appeared. To my surprise, she had Josephine with her. 

“Dόra,” Josephine greeted, smiling warmly. She came over to give me a hug. 

“Are you alright, Josie?” I asked, squeezing the other woman tightly. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, for your concern.”

She stepped back, and I looked at Leliana. The Spymaster met my gaze with a slight nod. It was a small gesture, but it conveyed an apology for her earlier harshness. I returned it with one of my own, but let her know with my gaze that I would be patient for only so much longer.

“So, you came,” I said. 

“Yes. No matter the secrets you have kept from us, you still care, and deserve an explanation. We are not certain why Josephine was a target, but she has some ideas.”

“I appreciate your candor,” I told the Spymaster, and looked at Josephine expectantly. 

The Antivan blew out a breath and sank onto one of the low benches surrounding the table scattered with Dagna’s notes. “Leliana knows most of this,” she began. “I didn’t want to trouble the Inquisition with my personal troubles, so I confided in no one else.

“The Montilyets are a merchant family. Once, we had a fleet numbering in the hundreds, with merchant ships and warships to protect their cargo. But, more than a century ago, we were exiled from trading in Orlais. Our finances were devastated. For generations, the Montilyets have been scrabbling to avoid debtors. 

“I am to become head of our house. I cannot sell any more of our land—if I do, my family will become destitute! I will not leave that as my legacy to them.”

“I’m sorry for your struggles, Josie,” I said, “but I don’t see where the assassin comes into this.”

“Josie’s had some nefarious encounters before, related to her family’s fortunes,” Leliana explained. “That is why she thinks this is related.”

“Yes,” the Ambassador agreed. “I had almost solved our trouble. I had arranged the opportunity to reinstate the Montilyets as landed traders in Orlais. I dispatched paperwork to Val Royeaux from Haven, before you recruited the mages. But my carriers were attacked and killed, and the documents that would restore my family’s trading status were destroyed.”

“I made some inquiries,” Leliana filled in, “and we found that an Orlesian noble, the Comte Boisvert, was claiming to know who had killed Josie’s couriers.”

“I sent a missive to the Comte, requesting information,” Josephine groaned in resignation. “Just a few days before the attempt on the Breach. If he sent any word back, it would have arrived about the time Haven was destroyed.”

“It’s a big leap from killing your messengers and destroying documents to assassinating you,” I pointed out. “Even if someone out there doesn’t want the Montilyets’ trading status restored, it seems more likely that the assassination attempt was aimed at the Inquisition, rather than you personally.”

“There’s more,” Josephine sighed. “Immediately after I learned that my couriers were killed, I received an anonymous letter, with instructions to cease my attempts to restore the Montilyets in Orlais. It implied that continuing my attempts would be dangerous.”

“That is suspicious, but not conclusive. Do we know anything about this assassin?” I asked. 

“Yes, actually,” Leliana supplied. “He bore the signet of the House of Repose.”

“You see?” Josephine exclaimed. “It must be related to our trading status.”

“I don’t follow,” I said. 

“The House of Repose is an Orlesian assassin’s league,” Leliana explained. “They work exclusively for Orlesian nobles. Their involvement suggests that someone in Orlais took out a contract on Josephine, and the other incidents allude to a connection with the Montilyets’ trading status.”

“So perhaps a family who feels the Montilyets would be in direct competition with them,” I mused. 

“That seems the most likely scenario,” Leliana agreed. “Though it is impossible to be certain without more information.”

“What I can’t figure out is who would do such a thing,” Josephine pondered. “Any of our old competitors have long since moved on, and as I hadn’t negotiated for monopoly over any specific market, I don’t know who would see my family as such a serious threat.”

“I have had dealings with the House of Repose in the past,” Leliana said. “They are nothing if not organized, and devoted to their contracts. Each written contract is stored in a vault in their headquarters. If I were to send agents to steal or destroy the contract on you, they would have no obligation to hunt you.”

“I’ll go,” I volunteered. “If nothing else, I can burn their headquarters down, along with the vault. Or just take them out completely.”

“What? No!” Josephine yelped. “No, I will try to initiate contact with Comte Boisvert again, and find out what he knows. There is no need for such violent measures.”

“We will discuss that later, Josie,” Leliana told her. “As for you, Dόra, the solution to this is not your concern.”

“And how long am I to remain here, doing nothing at all?” I asked acidly. “If you won’t let me help the Inquisition with the rifts, at least let me help keep Josephine safe.”

“ _No_ , Dόra,” Leliana insisted. “This conversation is over.”

I swore softly as the door closed behind them, but the cogs in my mind were turning. If they wanted to be so shortsighted that they refused to accept my aid in any fashion, then I simply wouldn’t give them a choice.


	27. Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Cassandra Goes to Therinfal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh sorry I’m so late with this chapter. >_< I’m having crazy writer’s block in any fic I’ve attempted lately, and I really struggled with this chapter specifically…but more on that in the end note. For now, enjoy!

Leliana paced before Josephine’s fire, Varric’s words still ringing in her mind. The Ambassador sat sedately on the chaise, ignoring the agitated Orlesian. 

“I _know_ Varric had a point, Josie,” Leliana burst out for at least the third time. “But we have no idea what we would be unleashing on the world if we let Dόra roam free.”

“We allowed her unrestricted access to Thedas before knowing her secrets, and she was perfectly trustworthy then,” Josephine replied calmly, “as I have told you every time we have this conversation. You’ve always been sympathetic to the plight of the mages, Leliana. Just think of Dόra as a bard who is also a mage.”

“Mages can’t be bards, Josie,” Leliana muttered sourly, still pacing. “And no bard drinks human blood.”

Josephine sighed, and set her writing board aside to give her undivided attention to her friend. “Leliana,” she said, “the circles have been dismantled. You have often indicated a preference that they not be re-instated, allowing the mages to live among the rest of us. Consider, then, that future: why could a mage _not_ become a bard?”

“There would still be oversight, and there’s still the vampire concern,” Leliana replied stubbornly. “And the Dragonborn issue.”

“It sounds to me like the ‘Dragonborn issue’ is merely a circumstance of Dόra’s birth, yes? An innate ability that gives her unusual powers? Rather like a mage, wouldn’t you agree?”

“But—”

Josephine held up a hand to forestall the objection. “Just listen, Leliana. I know drinking human blood is…well, distasteful. But the fact remains that the Herald is the only person who can close the rifts.” 

Leliana spluttered. “So you’re saying to ignore it in favor of the greater good?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve always done?” Josephine asked gently.

The Spymaster groaned, and flopped down onto the chaise beside Josie. “The truth is,” she admitted dejectedly, “I’m not really so horrified by Dόra’s nature. As you say, I’ve killed, stolen, spied, framed people…first for Marjolaine, but later for Divine Justinia. It seems I’ve spent my whole life walking the line between crime and righteousness.”

“So what’s the problem?” Josephine asked, confused. 

Leliana sighed. “It…I’ve always been the one pulling the strings. Manipulating people through their secrets is my _job_.”

“And you were taken by surprise just as much as the rest of us.”

“Yes. And if I’d stayed calm, thought things through, I wouldn’t have outed her secrets to the rest of you. I could have used it to the Inquisition’s advantage, but seeing her drinking the Magister’s blood…it threw me off.”

Josephine was distressed by this admission, but chose to ignore it for the time being. “You can still use Dόra’s abilities for the Inquisition,” she pointed out. “And Dόra herself is willing to assist, it seems in any way she can. Surely having her willing and honest aid is better than manipulation and deceit?”

Leliana chuckled lightly, but her expression grew serious as she turned to look at her friend. “You know Cassandra and Cullen will not see it the same way, of course.”

“I have faith that we can be persuasive enough to overcome their doubts,” Josie said, returning to her correspondence. 

*

Cassandra rode ahead of the others, following the map to the scout’s camp outside Therinfal Redoubt. They were a quiet group: Vivienne riding proudly just behind the Seeker, Blackwall following her in awed silence, while Sera trailed resentfully at the rear. Cassandra hadn’t wanted to bring the elf, but Varric made not-so-subtle suggestions about Halldόra every time she saw him, and Sera’s pranks seemed like the lesser annoyance. As it was, she needn’t have worried: Vivienne had let the Red Jenny know that she would not tolerate any foolishness immediately out the gates of Skyhold. 

Harding met them in a small clearing, well hidden by the dense trees. 

“What’s the situation?” Cassandra asked. 

The dwarf looked at her solemnly. “The keep is mostly empty, just a token force under the command of a Knight-Captain, Denam. Most of the other Templars we’ve seen have been those red monstrosities. Knight-Captain Denam doesn’t show any visible signs of red lyrium corruption, but he’s obviously in league with Corypheus. We’ve found no evidence of the Lord Seeker.”

“What of the Templar who sent the message to Cullen? Ser Barris?”

She shook her head. “If he’s here, I’m afraid he’s been turned. No one has been able to get into the fortress to see if there are any un-corrupted Templars left. There were rumors of prolific lyrium—red lyrium—shipments here in abundance before the Herald closed the Breach, but all’s been quiet since I got here.”

“I see,” Cassandra muttered, thinking hard. “If you haven’t been able to get any agents inside the redoubt, I assume that means you know of no other entrance that we could use?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Then it seems our best option is a full-frontal attack, swift and hard, under cover of night,” Cassandra decided. “If it is only a small force to hold the keep, it should not be a problem for us to overwhelm them.”

*

The fortress was quiet, only a few torches flickering in the darkness. Harding led Cassandra and the others to a copse of trees just out of sight of the drawbridge. The scouts under her command had already parted from the group, moving ahead to take the guards at the gate by surprise. 

“Are you certain you don’t want me to accompany you inside?” The dwarf whispered. “My people and I can help you.”

“No, we are more than capable of taking care of this,” Cassandra replied. “Besides,” she added wryly, “Leliana would have my hide if I needlessly endangered any of her agents.”

“If you’re sure,” Harding sighed. “My people will be watching the gate for your return. Good luck.”

The keep was silent. Harding’s agents nodded solemnly at them as they passed under the portcullis. There was no trace of the guards they had dispatched. 

The courtyard was deserted. The Templar standards, representing the people, the Order, and the Chantry, still hung low on the stone walls, but they’d been shredded and torn. Rusty-brown blood stains spotted the earth. 

“I’m afraid, Cassandra, we have to consider the possibility that Corypheus has already corrupted the entire Templar order,” Vivienne said, gazing solemnly around the ravaged yard.

“No,” Cassandra asserted. “No, it can’t be. We know Lord Seeker Lucius summoned a large force to him here, and we know they weren’t involved in the attack on Haven. They _must_ be somewhere.”

“Doesn’t mean Corypheus didn’t corrupt the rest of them after destroying Haven,” Blackwall pointed out. 

“No!” Cassandra whirled on him. “I will not accept that!”

He met her scowl with a steady gaze, but finally his eyes dropped. “We won’t know anything until we search the place,” he conceded. 

They continued exploring the grounds, making their way through various outbuildings. Stables, workshops, barracks—all were empty of life. 

“This is fockin’ creepy as shite,” Sera muttered as they passed room after empty room.

“The whole place can’t be deserted,” Blackwall replied in a low voice. “Harding said there was at least a small force here.”

Finally, they approached the main keep.

“Be ready,” Vivienne said in a low voice. “It stands to reason that we will finally find our opposition within.”

Without warning, the door burst open, and red Templars streamed forth with a roar. 

“It’s an ambush!” Cassandra yelled, drawing her sword. She heard Sera swearing behind her, and the metallic ring as Blackwell drew his blade. 

Malformed horrors led the forefront of the charge, and the tiny Inquisition party was nearly swept under. Massive spikes of ice burst forth under the oncoming Templars’ feet, impaling the first wave, and then Cassandra lost track of her companions, all of her attention focused on her own battles. 

It soon became obvious that the initial surge of attackers was the bulk of their force. As soon as Cassandra had room to breathe, she glanced around and saw an armed man standing with a small contingent of archers, yelling orders. 

_That must be the Knight-Captain that Harding mentioned._

Soon enough, they advanced on the archers. Knight-Captain Denam danced back, shrieking curses. 

“You’re too late!” He screeched. “You can’t stop the Elder One!”

Cassandra growled, charging at him. He drew his sword hurriedly, parrying her swing. Up close, she could see that his eyes were stained with the taint of red lyrium, fine veins spider-webbing across his face. 

“Soon the world will be red,” he hissed as she swung again. He opened his mouth so say more, but with a _thump_ , an arrow penetrated his eye with expert precision. Cassandra looked ruefully at Sera as Denam slumped to the ground, already dead. 

“Wot?” The elf asked. “He was creepin’ me out.”

“Perhaps we should continue while it’s still night,” Vivienne pointed out when it looked as though Sera might say more. 

Cassandra grunted in assent, turning to climb the steps to the keep. 

“Sera,” she heard Vivienne say in warning, and turned back to see the elf bending over Denam’s body. When she straightened, she had something clutched in her hand. 

“Keys,” the elf proclaimed, waving them at the mage. “They were on his belt.”

“I hardly think he took the time to lock the door behind him,” Vivienne said scathingly. 

Sera simply shrugged. “Maybe not, but when a person carries keys around, they usually end up bein’ important, yeah?”

The door to the keep was unlocked and ajar, and Cassandra pushed it open cautiously. An empty foyer reassured her—until they entered the main hall.

“Somethin’ bad went down here,” Sera said in horror as she stepped into the hall. Once glance, and it was obvious she was right. Tables and chairs were overturned; blood and other bodily fluids spattered the dirt-covered floor. Haphazard cages had been set up along the walls, and the eerie song of red lyrium seemed to settle into the party’s very bones. 

“There!” Vivienne said sharply. “I believe those men are still alive!”

Cassandra looked quickly toward the cages the mage indicated. Unlike the others, these were not empty—cadaverous Templars occupied the enclosures. 

The party rushed to open the locked doors, fumbling with the keys Sera had taken off of Knight-Captain Denam, but most of the Templars seemed beyond help. The first one they released was a woman, with red lyrium crystals growing from her face and spine. Her mouth hung open, and an unbroken whisper of a scream escaped her throat. The second man, whose veins glowed a deep crimson with the tainted lyrium, was already dead. His eyes, stained red, stared sightlessly at the ceiling. 

“Maker’s balls,” Blackwell swore, gently closing the young man’s eyelids. “This is barbaric.”

The final Templar stirred painfully when they opened the door. Lyrium had swallowed one half of his face, growing sickeningly through one eye. Cassandra sucked in an appalled breath as she knelt by the prone man.

“It’s alright,” she soothed as he flinched in agitation. “We’re with the Inquisition. We came to help.”

He rasped a humorless laugh. “Inquisition? Too late for help. But…glad you came. I’m…one…contacted Cullen.”

“You’re Ser Barris?” Cassandra asked. 

“Yes. Knew it wasn’t right…Lord Seeker…taking…command…and then…tainted lyrium…”

“Where is Lord Seeker Lucius? Is he in league with the Elder One?”

Barris shook his head. “Don’t know. Rumors…Seekers…sent to Caer Oswin. Lord Seeker…disappeared…must have…sold us out.”

Cassandra looked around at the cages, heart sinking. “He took command of the Order, and forced you to take the red lyrium.” Her gaze returned to the prone young man, pleading with him. “Is there anyone left in the Order who is untainted?”

His lips twitched, a sardonic smile. “Small pockets…didn’t respond to summons…might still be out there…but not here. All here…were turned.”

The Seeker closed her eyes, grimacing. “Lucius will pay for this,” she whispered. 

Barris coughed. “Good,” he rasped. “Make him…suffer…as I have.”

“I will, Ser Barris,” Cassandra vowed.

Vivienne came up behind the Seeker then. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do here,” she said in a low voice, and her meaning was clear. Even magic could not save the young Templar. 

“Please…” Barris begged. “Let…it end…”

Cassandra swallowed a desperate sob, meeting the young man’s eyes. “I will, Barris.” Her voice was but a sigh as she drew her dagger and placed the blade against the Templar’s throat. One cut, and with a soft exhalation, he was gone. 

Vivienne stepped back as Cassandra stood. “Blackwall and Sera are scouting the antechambers,” she told the Seeker solemnly.

“Let us join them,” Cassandra replied. 

Ser Barris had been right: nothing was left alive in the keep. 

“It looks like this was just a staging area, for Corypheus to corrupt the Templars. When they were finished, they must have joined his army, wherever it’s hiding,” Blackwall mused. 

Cassandra grunted. 

“We’re going to get Coryphy-shite, right?” Sera asked, eyes wide. The elf had been quieter than usual after their venture into the main hall. 

No one answered. 

“We should return to camp,” Cassandra decided finally. She hated to leave, hated knowing that they were too late, but wishing for Templars to save would not make any appear. And so they trooped back through the empty courtyards, past the timework signs of pain and fear, and out the gates. The scouts standing guard fell in behind them, catching on to the black mood hovering over the party. 

As they approached the camp, Harding ran out to meet them. 

“Lady Cassandra,” she panted, “I have urgent news from Leliana. She asks that you return to Skyhold at once!”

“What is it?” Cassandra asked sharply, taking the rolled missive the scout proffered. 

“It’s the Herald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I’m really unsure about the character development in the first scene. Did Leliana see reason too quickly? Should she have been more stubborn, or defensive? Do her motives even make sense? If you have any feedback or advice for the other advisors’ (eventual) change of heart I’d greatly appreciate it!   
> In the next one, we’ll be back to Dόra! ;) (And don’t worry, it’s been completed since December, so you won’t have to wait a billion years like you did for this one.)


	28. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dόra Has Had Enough

I awoke at dawn of the seventh day—the day after the attack on Josephine. From my previous days of confinement, I knew that Harritt would arrive about an hour after first light, and Dagna an hour or two after that. The quirky dwarf often stayed awake through the night, working her way through various experiments. The agents set to guard me would change shortly after dawn, allowing the two who’d kept watch through the night to seek their beds.

While I lay in my bedroll, I mentally catalogued the resources available to me. Harritt had proudly displayed the silverite armor I had made, along with a pair of enchanted daggers and a dragonbone sword I’d fashioned in the style of my katanas. 

It was a bitter pill to chew, knowing that I would have to leave my belongings from Skyrim behind, but if they were locked in Leliana’s office, as Dagna said, then it would be far too risky to try to recover them. 

I thought about how to survive in Thedas if my plan went awry. I had no money to my name here, but I’d been destitute before and knew I could find ways to make a living. Likewise for food—it would be ideal if I could sneak something from the kitchens before I left Skyhold, but unless a servant brought in a tray of lunch with easily portable food I was out of luck on that count. A bow would be necessary so I could hunt and provide for myself, though, so I set about forging one, along with a bushel of arrows. 

The bow was finished by the time Dagna arrived, and I’d crafted a simple quiver to hold the arrows as well. I carefully set my creations aside, near the armor mannequin, where I hoped the guards would not bother to remove them, and greeted the dwarf. 

“Good morning,” she crowed. “What exciting things should we discuss today?”

“I had an idea last night,” I offered, and her eyes lit up. 

“Do tell,” she said breathlessly. 

I laughed. “Well, when I was part of the Dawnguard, we primarily used crossbows against the vampires. I ran some errands for our Dwemer tech specialist, Sorine, and found advanced schematics. Some of them included the plans for making exploding crossbow bolts that inflict elemental damage.”

“Oooh how fun!” Dagna exclaimed, clapping. “Were they enchanted? I’ve never considered applying enchantments to individual bolts or arrows. Too wasteful, for something that you fire once and may not recover.”

“They weren’t actually enchanted, at least not in the usual way, with soul gems,” I told her. “Instead, we imbued them during forging with special ingredients: fire, frost, or void salts, to be specific. But if we can figure out how to apply the same principle here, with a similar ingredient…”

“That would be amazing!” The arcanist leapt up, gathering parchment from her workbench. “Tell me more about these salts.”

The hours flew by after that. Dagna was determined to find a local equivalent to the salts found in the remains of atronachs back home, relishing the puzzle I had presented to her. 

“Maybe Helisma can help us identify something similar,” Dagna mused, staring at the list we'd come up with of ingredients with similar elemental properties. None of them seemed quite sufficient. “If being part of a living creature is the key…”

By the time she left for her daily meeting with Leliana, we had compiled a list of criteria for Helisma to look for. 

“Harritt, do you think you could take this to Helisma and see if she has any suggestions?” I asked innocently. 

“Oh, good idea!” Dagna praised. “Then we can get right back to it once I’m back!”

The smith gave me a dark look, knowing as well as I that delivering the lists would mean listening to a long lecture of possible matches, delivered in the slow monotone of the Tranquil. 

“Please?” I asked, smiling winsomely. 

He sighed. “Alright then.”

Dagna led him out, chattering about the possibilities of our research, and I waited a few moments after the door closed before making my move.

Two swift hits, and I’d knocked the guards unconscious. They went down with a minimum of noise, and after a brief hesitation, I sated my thirst for blood. Then I hurried to the armor stand. 

Every second felt like an eternity as my fingers fumbled with the fastenings, but finally the gear was on, scabbards tied around my torso. I swung my cloak over my shoulders and tied the bow and quiver to my back, securing everything as best I was able. 

Then I took a deep breath, trying not to think about what I was about to do, and took a running leap off the balcony.

*

Varric sat as his usual table by the fire, reading the letter he had just drafted. On the one hand, he didn’t see how he could reasonably take any other course of action, but on the other…well, it would be a headache, that was for sure. Hopefully Halldόra would be in the clear with the advisors by the time anything came of his message, and able to run interference—especially with the Seeker. But even if she wasn’t, he knew the letter must be sent. 

After sealing the missive, Varric wandered in to check on Solas. The elf had decided the walls of his rotunda needed a mural, and had obtained brilliantly colored paints from somewhere. The dwarf was quite curious as to what the final montage would depict. 

“Chuckles,” he greeted as he entered the room. Solas glanced over from where he stood contemplating a blank wall, nodding at him. 

“Varric,” the elf returned. “What brings you here?”

“Just seeing how the progress is coming,” Varric said. “I see you’re debating how best to fill the empty wall.”

“Quite,” Solas agreed, returning to his ruminations. “I am sure you are familiar with the concept, being a writer.”

“The blank page is a bitch,” Varric answered cheerfully. 

Before he could say anything more, they all felt the keep rumble beneath their feet. A dull roar, like rolling thunder, echoed through the stones, and Varric swore he could almost hear a pattern in it, like words. 

He and Solas exchanged a look of dread.

Cursing blistered the air, drifting down from the rookery, where the Spymaster resided. They were punctuated by orders given in a snarled voice to her agents, and soon enough, they heard the clattering of footsteps on the stairs. 

Dorian, who’d been leaning against the balustrade reading a book, met Varric’s gaze, the fear the dwarf felt mirrored in his eyes. 

“Dόra,” he mouthed, and Varric nodded. 

Leliana burst out into the foyer then, followed by two of her agents and the dwarven arcanist. The Spymaster looked more enraged than Varric had ever seen, and he quickly put himself on the opposite side of the desk, just in case. 

“Fetch Cullen and Josephine,” she grated to her agents, before slamming through the door into the great hall. 

Varric and Solas exchanged a look, and wordlessly followed. 

*

Cullen hurried into the Undercroft. Leliana, of course, was already there, as were Josephine, Varric, and Solas. The guards they had posted sat huddled in the corner, seemingly each nursing a headache. 

“What happened?” The Commander asked the room at large. 

“It seems the Herald contrived to send Harritt away while Dagna was reporting to me, and then attacked the guards stationed here,” Leliana spat, expression mutinous. “She has escaped.”

“What of the guards in the great hall?”

“They say she never passed that way,” Leliana replied. 

“She must have,” Cullen protested. “There’s no other way out of here.”

“Guess no one thought to ask her if she knew any invisibility spells,” Varric muttered. 

Cullen frowned. “Surely, even if she were invisible, someone would have noticed something. The door opening by itself, for instance.”

“She would need supplies,” Josephine mused. 

“Right,” Cullen nodded. “I’ll lock down the gates, and place guards on all our stores. She can hide, but she won’t leave Skyhold.”

“That sound—her Shout—sounded like it was already outside the walls of the keep,” Dagna mused thoughtfully.

They looked at the arcanist, and as one, turned to stare at the balcony.

“Surely you don’t think...” Cullen trailed off.

“Yes,” Leliana answered grimly. “I do think.”

Josephine gasped. “Climbing these icy cliffs would be suicide!” 

“We don’t know for sure what her Dragonborn magic is capable of,” Dagna pointed out. She threw a slightly reproachful look at Leliana. “Learning her capabilities wasn’t what I was told to prioritize.”

“Oh my goodness,” Josephine moaned, looking distraught. “What if she fell? She could be alive, needing medical attention. We must mount a search at once!”

Varric patted her arm comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Ruffles. Rose is hardier than that.”

“I will send out my scouts, to see if we can find any trace of where she may have gone,” Leliana said, steering the conversation back to practicalities. “She cannot have made it far.”

“What of the dragon?” Cullen asked. “Surely she will try to call it to her?” 

“That seems likely. I doubt we can prevent it from going to her, but I will set my best people to follow it. We will find her.”

*

I collapsed in the drifted snow by the glacier, muscles trembling from adrenaline. I’d survived the landing by using Become Ethereal, but my instincts were still screaming in terror from my uncontrolled fall. 

I allowed myself only a moment’s rest, knowing that my Shouts would have alerted the Inquisition to my escape. Leliana’s agents were likely trying to track me even now. So I pushed myself up, shunting my adrenaline-fueled exhaustion to a locked box in my mind. 

“ **OD. AH. VIING!** ” I Shouted to the sky. 

I had a brief moment of worry when I thought perhaps the Inquisition had somehow captured and bound the dragon, but when his silhouette took shape against the sky, I breathed easy. I knew they would follow him, but by the time they reached this location, we would be long gone. 

“WE MEET, MY LORD,” the dragon snorted as he landed. “WHAT IS GOING ON? I HAVE NOT SEEN YOU IN SOME TIME.”

“I know,” I replied, tapping his side so he’d lower himself for me to climb on more easily. “But we’re in danger here, so we need to leave immediately.”

“YOU HAVE ALLIES UP ABOVE,” he pointed out. 

“Actually they’re the danger.”

He blew out a hot breath. “HMM. I SHALL HEED. WE FLY!”

I waited until we were airborne and cruising before speaking again. 

“Do you think you can find the place where you first came into Thedas?” I asked. “Where the rift from the Throat of the World brought you?

“YES,” Odahviing thundered, voice shaking my bones.

“Good,” I said. “Take me there.”

*

The Bull’s Chargers were making the long trek back to Skyhold, a veritable entourage in their wake. Dennet had been inordinately pleased with the number of horses they recovered, and Bull was surprised by the amount of materials they managed to salvage. They’d had to go to nearby Redcliffe to arrange for wagons to carry everything back with them, and had found themselves accompanied by a number of refugees and warriors who had heard of the Herald’s miraculous survival and were flocking to join the Inquisition’s ranks. 

“The Inquisition should be pleased, eh Chief?” Krem asked, coming up beside the qunari. 

“Aye,” he replied. “Wonder how much progress they’ve made with Skyhold.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Krem replied absently, staring off into the distance. His brows creased in a slight frown. “Is that what I think it is?”

The Iron Bull followed his lieutenant’s gaze, toward the high mountains where Skyhold had remained hidden for so long. A dark speck was moving above the horizon, like a distant bird—except the silhouette was all wrong for a bird. 

Krem grinned. “Are we taking a detour to go on the hunt, Chief?”

The Iron Bull didn’t answer immediately, still staring thoughtfully at the far-away dragon. “It doesn’t look like most Thedosian dragons,” he mused. 

“What does that mean?” Krem asked. 

“It…well, it looks like the Boss’s dragon…”

“Do you think they’ve let her get back to closing rifts?” Krem wondered. Bull had told the Tevinter the situation, trusting the young man to keep it to himself. 

“I hope so, Krem,” he replied. “If they haven’t…that’s not good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: originally I had an elaborate escape, in which Dόra crafted crampons and other climbing equipment, poisoned the guards so that they became ill, and enthralled Harritt and sent him off to hide out in the stables, and then climbed down the cliff. But then I decided that climbing down from such a height would take hours and the Inquisition might well be waiting for her by the time she reached the bottom, and so here we are: the fast way down lol.  
> I'm hoping to keep writing but unfortunately I think March is going to be kinda crazy for me...so, I'm hoping to update soon, but I can't make any promises. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter~  
> (Also, one note: Odahviing's line 'ZUU FENT HON', I SHALL HEED, should actually be spelled "ZU'U FENT HON" but the apostrophe messes up the translation coding and I didn't want to do it piecemeal.)


	29. Divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dόra Goes Her Own Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter…but with drama! Today it's been one full year since I posted the first chapter, so that's exciting~

Cassandra strode into the War Room, throwing the door open furiously. She barely noticed Josephine and Cullen, who looked up in alarm at her entrance. Her party had traveled immediately back to Skyhold, only stopping to allow the horses to drink and eat a few handfuls of grain, barely giving their riders any respite. While the others had sought their beds upon arrival, Cassandra had gone in search of the Spymaster. 

“How could you have allowed this to happen, Leliana?” She roared, startling Josephine into letting out a frightened peep. 

“I did not _allow_ anything, Cassandra,” Leliana fired back. 

“How did she escape?” 

“We think she may have climbed down the cliff outside the Undercroft,” the redhead said in aggravation. “We don’t know how. All we know is a few minutes after we realized she was missing, she called her dragon to her and he flew into the valley. My scouts found evidence of his landing, and a few human footprints.”

“And then?” Cassandra demanded.

Leliana threw up her hands. “And then nothing, Cassandra. They flew away. The only clue we have is a report from the Iron Bull: he and Krem saw a distant figure that Bull swears was Dόra’s dragon off in the distance when they were coming back from Haven.”

Cassandra threw up her arms. “So the Herald escapes, and she and her dragon simply fly off into the sunset? Is the Inquisition so incompetent?”

“My scouts have been trying to track her, Cassandra,” Leliana replied icily. “But they can’t fly.”

“We were going to discuss more efficient ways of trying to find her when you arrived,” Cullen interrupted. “Not to mention how to bring her back once she’s been located.”

“We send out the army and bring her back by force,” Cassandra declared. “And this time, we will lock her in the dungeon where there are no escape routes, however unlikely.”

Josephine cleared her throat. “Is this really our highest priority? Corypheus is still out there. We must make sure we are ready for whatever he plans next.”

“You think we shouldn’t go after Dόra?” Cullen’s voice betrayed his surprise. 

“Correct,” the Ambassador replied simply. 

Cassandra slammed her fist on the table. “Are you mad?” She bellowed. “We must bring her back!”

“She was your friend, Cassandra!” Josephine exclaimed heatedly. “How can you be so callous?”

“She was my friend, and she lied to me! She lied to all of us!” Cassandra yelled. “And now she is gone, abandoned us to our fate. How can I forgive her for that?”

“Cassandra is right,” Leliana interposed. “We need to bring Dόra back to Skyhold.”

“Leliana,” Josephine cried, “I thought you agreed with me!”

“I agreed that the Herald is the only one who can close rifts, and that it would be irresponsible to leave her locked up,” Leliana said. “But it is one thing for her to operate under the authority of the Inquisition. Now, she is out there with no oversight.”

“You don’t trust her to do the right thing,” Josephine snapped in disgust. “So you will waste valuable resources hunting her down? What of the other plans we made? Gaining an audience with Empress Celene, and tracking the Venatori?” 

“It is possible that something much worse than Corypheus is now loose in Thedas!” Cassandra snarled. 

“Don’t be a fool, Cassandra,” Josephine snapped bitingly. “We all know Dόra is no threat to Thedas. If the Inquisition insists on ignoring the _real_ threat to pursue her, then I will not have any part of it.” Eyes flashing, she slapped her writing board down on the table, and stomped out of the War Room.

*

Odahviing’s tail lashed impatiently as we watched the sun rise higher. We’d passed the night on a rocky promontory atop one of the high peaks of the Frostbacks, a short flight away from the rift through which Odahviing had arrived in Thedas. 

“THURI, YOU WISHED TO SEE THE PORTAL,” he growled finally, fed up. “WE DEFEATED THE CREATURES THAT DEFENDED IT. HOW LONG WILL WE SIT HERE?”

“Well, if the Inquisition doesn’t want me, then we might as well go home,” I said. 

“AND YET WE ARE STILL HERE.”

“I’m just…thinking.”

He huffed. 

“It’s not that easy,” I replied defensively. “I don’t even know if we could go through the rift to get back to Skyrim.”

“AND YOU AGONIZE OVER LEAVING THIS WORLD…HMM…UNSTABLE,” he noted. 

I sighed resignedly. “I’m frustrated, that they don’t trust me to fix things,” I admitted. “But you’re right. Leaving would go against everything I believe in. I just don’t see how I can help them if they won’t let me.” 

“YOU HAVE OVERLORDSHIP,” Odahviing flicked his tail, explaining it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “WHAT GOOD IS STRENGTH IF YOU STILL FOLLOW…HMM…GUIDANCE, COMMANDS?”

I looked at him, startled. “You mean, just go out on my own? Defeat Corypheus without the Inquisition?”

One great eye gazed at me flatly, and the dragon breathed a hot exhale of exasperation. “YOU ARE DRAGON. DRAGONS DO NOT…HMM…HAVE NEED OF MORTAL ARMIES.”

“But I’m not really a dragon.”

He rose up to his full height, towering above me, great voice booming around the peaks. “RAGE! YOU BELITTLE ME! YOU ARE NOT DRAGON IN BODY, BUT IN SPIRIT. I FOLLOW BECAUSE YOU PROVED YOUR INNER STRENGTH. HAVE YOU GROWN SO COWARDLY, TO FLEE BATTLE? LET US SEE WHO IS MOST STRONG, THURI.” 

With a surge of muscle, his head snaked toward me, and I scrambled backward in the snow as the dragon’s sharp fangs snapped together inches from where I’d been sitting by the remains of my campfire. 

“Odahviing, stop!” I shouted. 

“NO. I WILL NOT. SORROW. UNLESS YOU GIVE ME NO MORE CAUSE TO DOUBT. **TOOR. SHUL!** ”

“ **FEIM. ZII. GRON.** ” I Shouted, and the dragon’s flames passed harmlessly through me. I scrambled to my feet and drew my sword. 

“YOU ARE DOVAHKIIN, YET YOU ARE CHAINED TO YOUR MORTAL FLESH. BREAK FREE!” 

I braced myself as Odahviing’s maw darted toward me once more, but his tail whipped around behind me, knocking me off my feet. My blade tumbled from my grasp. 

“ **FUS. RO. DAH.** ” My shout pushed Odahviing’s snout aside, giving me the time to roll to my feet. I dove for my sword, but was blinded by the downdraft when Odahviing took flight. 

“BREAK FREE, MY SISTER!” He cried, swooping around me. 

I watched his motions carefully, then lunged to the side as he swerved, bring up my sword. He gave an annoyed bellow as the blade sliced through the leathery membrane of his wing—but once again, I failed to watch for his sinuous tail. 

“Damn it, Odahviing,” I exclaimed as the bony tip walloped my forearm, sword spinning out of my numbed fingers. 

“FIGHT, DOVAHKIIN. PROVE YOUR STRENGTH.” 

I took a deep breath. “ **JOOR. ZAH. FRUL.** ” 

The dragon growled as the Shout brought him in to land, making him temporarily feel the alien sensation of mortality. 

“YOU RESORT TO THE TRICKERY OF MORTALS, ” he snarled. “SUCH IS NOT THE WAY OF THE DOV.”

“I’m not dov!” I screamed. “I’m Dragonborn, but I’m still human!”

“BREAK AND BLEED! YOU ARE OF DRAGON BLOOD. BE DRAGON—OR DIE HUMAN.”

Sharp talons snapped out, squeezing with bone-crushing force. My armor creaked and groaned under the stress, and the razor points of Odahviing’s claws pierced my side, shooting fire up my rib cage. I shrieked—in pain, in anger and confusion, and something inside me snapped. My vision went red and a growl built in my throat. 

I Shouted. “ **MUL. QAH. DIIV.** ” My flesh hardened and strength flooded through my body, drowning out the pain. With Unrelenting Force, I drove Odahviing back, forcing him to release me. 

In retaliation, he snapped out a wing, flinging me back onto the ground, and pounced. One heavy foot pressed me deeper into the snow, and hot breath, reeking of carrion and sulfur, washed over me, but even a dragon’s fangs couldn’t pierce the armor of my Dragon Aspect. His jaws closed around me. 

“ **GOL. HAH. DOV.** ” 

With a distressed roar, the dragon fell back, shaking his head as though to shake the effects of the Shout away. I gasped in relief as the suffocating pressure of his weight withdrew. I lay there, panting, before turning my head to look at the dragon. 

He was watching me with narrowed eyes. “PEACE, THURI.” 

“When that Shout wears off, are you going to attack me again?”

A rumble escaped him, and it took a moment for me to realize it was a chuckle. “NID. A BEAUTIFUL BATTLE. YOUR MIGHT HAS GROWN SINCE OUR LAST BATTLE, MY FRIEND. YOU TRULY ARE MOST STRONG. NO MORE WILL I QUESTION.”

I gazed back up at the sky, considering his words. “‘My friend?’” I repeated. “Are we friends? You did just try to kill me.”

Again, he rumbled in amusement. “HMM…FAHDON IS DIFFERENT FROM FRIEND. IT IS…HMM…ALLY.”

“You still attacked me. Allies typically don’t do that.”

Odahviing snorted. “IT WOULD BE…HMM…DIMINISHING TO SERVE ONE NOT STRONG ENOUGH. YOU ARE STUBBORN, THURI. DETERMINED TO…HMM…DENY DIIV, THE ESSENCE OF DOV. ONLY ONE WHO ACCEPTS THEIR TRUTH CAN BECOME MOST STRONG, GAIN MASTERY.”

“I see,” I said dubiously. “So you’re not going to attack me again, right? I’ve proven my strength.”

“TRUE. I PLEDGE LOYALTY. I AM YOUR BATTLE-COMPANION, YOUR SERVANT. I AWAIT YOUR COMMAND, THURI.”

“Good.” With an immense effort, I pulled myself out of the deep depression in the snow, only to wince as my ribs twinged where Odahviing’s talons had pierced through my armor. I lay my hand over the wound, focusing my magicka into a simple healing spell. “So I guess you wouldn’t be happy if I said we were going to go back to Skyrim after all that.”

Odahviing cocked his head to one side. “I CARE NOT. YOUR CHOICE.” 

“As long as my reasoning is that of a dragon and not a mortal, is that it?”

“HMM,” the dragon rumbled, which I took as an affirmative. Sighing, I laid back in the snow. 

“We’ll have to figure out how to find Corypheus,” I mused, watching clouds drift by above me. “Which means we need information. But the Inquisition will probably be looking for us, and you’ll be hard to hide in well-populated areas. So first we need to throw them off.” I considered my limited knowledge of Thedas. “We’ll go to the Storm Coast,” I decided. “We’ll be able to hide there for a while. But lay a false trail so they go in another direction. Maybe toward the Hinterlands.”

“I AM FAMILIAR WITH THIS MANNER OF HUNT, THURI,” Odahviing said, tail lashing. He sounded grimly pleased. “LEAVE IT TO ME.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote this chapter because it just seemed horribly boring to me, and…I didn’t expect any of the results tbh. Josie threatening to leave the Inquisition, Odahviing delivering an ultimatum and accusing Dόra of being too weak for him to follow???? THE CHARACTERS ARE ACTING OF THEIR OWN ACCORD I’VE LOST ALL CONTROL! honestly both Dόra and I are over here like “WTF is happening?!?”
> 
> Shouts and Dovahzul notes:  
> Ruth (rage): an expression of frustration  
> Toor Shul: Fire Breath shout  
> Feim Zii Gron: Become Ethereal shout  
> Fus Ro Dah: Unrelenting Force shout  
> Joor Zah Frul: Dragonrend shout  
> Kren sosaal (break and bleed): a curse  
> Mul Qah Diiv: Dragon Aspect shout  
> Gol Hah Dov: Bend Will shout


End file.
